The rain had already soaked through his coat by the time Detective Miles Rennick reached the front steps of the building. Not that he noticed anymore. He'd stopped noticing a lot of things lately—like how long it had been since he slept without waking up in a cold sweat, or the taste of coffee that wasn't burnt to hell. He stood staring up at the massive, brutalist façade of the complex—concrete, steel, no signage, no soul.
"Great," he muttered to no one, water dripping from the brim of his hat. "Looks like a good place to get stabbed by a metaphor."
The call that brought him here was vague. An anonymous tip. A woman's voice. Shaky. Breathless. She'd said one thing before the line went dead: "They're going to make you play."
Normally, he wouldn't have bothered. But there was something about that voice. Something familiar. And lately, Miles didn't have much to lose.
The front door was slightly ajar. Unlocked. Of course.
He pulled his revolver from the holster beneath his coat and eased the door open with a cautious nudge. The interior was stark. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead like they were arguing with the wiring. The hallway stretched ahead like a gullet. No reception desk. No sign of life.
He stepped in.
The door slammed shut behind him.
CLANG.
Miles spun around. "Oh good," he muttered. "Haunted architecture."
He tried the handle. Locked. Naturally.
Then, overhead, a soft click. A speaker crackled to life.
> "Welcome, Detective Rennick."
The voice was calm. Too calm. It had the polished quality of someone who's never been punched in the mouth.
> "You have one hour to escape. Every decision you make carries consequence. The first room awaits."
A click, then silence.
A screen embedded in the wall flickered on. A timer began to count down:
60:00
Miles exhaled through his nose. "Right. A game."
He looked around. The corridor had changed. A new door had appeared at the end of the hall. Solid steel, numbered 01. And behind him, the hallway he'd just entered? Gone. Replaced by smooth, seamless wall.
No more options. Just forward.
He approached the door. There was no knob—just a touchpad glowing with a green light. He reached out, half expecting it to shock him, but the door clicked and creaked open.
The room beyond was small. Empty, save for a desk, a chair, and a single lightbulb swinging above like a hypnotist's pendulum. There was a camera in the corner—old, analog, red light blinking.
He stepped inside.
59:27.
On the desk was a single sheet of paper.
RULE #1: TELL THE TRUTH. OR FACE THE ROOM.
"Well," Miles said aloud, setting the revolver down just in case, "I've been lying to myself for years, but I guess today's the day for honesty."
He picked up the paper. The words faded as soon as he read them, like ink evaporating. The bulb above him dimmed. The door slammed shut behind him.
Then, silence.
The kind of silence that gets inside your bones and makes you hear things that aren't there.
He sat in the chair, rubbing his temples. "Why does every nightmare I have lately come with furniture?"
Then the voice returned, slightly warped now.
> "Let's begin, Detective. Why didn't you save her?"
Miles froze. The question cut like broken glass down his throat.
Another click. The desk in front of him began to tremble. A drawer slid open on its own.
Inside: a revolver. Not his.
It had one bullet in the chamber.
And a note:
LIE, AND YOU LOSE A PIECE OF YOURSELF.
> "Why didn't you save her?"
Miles stared at the camera. "Because I was too late," he said flatly. "I thought I could beat the clock. I couldn't. I still hear her scream when I close my eyes."
The drawer slammed shut.
The lights brightened.
A soft chime rang out.
And the steel door opened.
He stood, scooping up his gun. "Guess I passed the first pop quiz."
As he stepped out into the next corridor, the timer ticked down again.
58:31.
And somewhere, in another room, someone else was watching the feed. A young woman with tear-streaked cheeks and trembling hands. She saw Miles on the screen and whispered through cracked lips:
"Don't trust the rooms. They change you."
But no one heard her.
And her clock had already hit 00:00.