Dravven wipes his blade on his coat, frowning. “You talk like you’ve done this before.”
Borzen growls, “Surviving’s a skill.”
“Talking’s a hobby,” Dravven shoots back.
“Boys,” I snap, my voice sharper than I mean it. “Focus.”
They both look at me. Borzen’s eyes flash with irritation, but there’s something else too—respect, maybe. He’s used to commanding. So am I. We fall into rhythm without meaning to.
We hit a junction—two corridors, both identical.
My code brain kicks in again. “This is a binary choice puzzle,” I say. “Left or right. In the original version, one’s a trap, one’s safe.”
“Which?” Dravven asks.
I stare at the walls. The lighting pattern. The flicker timing. My heartbeat syncs to it, an old rhythm I know too well. I point left.
Borzen grunts. “You sure?”
“No,” I say. “But it’s the one I would’ve picked.”
He nods once. “Good enough.”
We move. The corridor tightens, closing behind us. The light turns crimson. I hear a hum—low, almost inaudible. The civilians are whispering again. One of them, a man with shaking hands, clutches his chest. “We’re all going to die here,” he says.
“Not if we keep our heads,” I snap. But I’m not sure I believe myself.
The hum grows louder. The walls ripple, metallic veins glowing red. Allov gasps. “What’s happening?”
“Adaptive response,” I whisper. “It’s scanning us.”
“Scanning for what?”
“For fear.”
The lights dim. Dirk’s voice slithers through the air. “Oh, excellent work, players! You’re so close to your first checkpoint. Just a few more survivors needed for the bonus round!”
I grit my teeth. “You sick?—”
“Now, now. Don’t be rude. We’ve got an audience!”
The floor jolts. We tumble forward as the entire corridor shifts ninety degrees, reorienting. One of the civilians slides screaming into the darkness, vanishing. The rest of us cling to the new “floor,” panting.
“Checkpoint reached!” Dirk cheers. “See? Teamwork makes the screams work!”
Dravven groans. “If I ever get out of here, I’m erasing every file with his name on it.”
Borzen laughs once, low and humorless. “I’m going to erase hishead.”
“Get in line,” I mutter again.
We collapse into a maintenance chamber, doors sealing behind us. It’s quiet, for now. The air’s stale but breathable. Allov passes around salvaged nutrient bars she scavenged from a dispenser. No one eats.
I sink down against the wall, my hands shaking. I can’t stop seeing the civilians’ faces. Can’t stop hearing the screams.
Borzen kneels across from me, metal hand resting on his knee. “You built this,” he says quietly.
I look up, ready to argue—but his tone isn’t accusing. It’s curious. “You built something... this complex.”
