I wake with a start on the banks of a crystal lake. A gust of wind ripples down the back of your jumpsuit. You cannot see your wretched hands scrabbling among the twisted roots and rods. The concrete has given way to a mountain of rock and metal. You crawl, hand-over-hand, toward the gaping end of this dismal journey. You split your chin on the warm, wet concrete.īlood drips and dances among the pools forming on the floor. A quick trickle drips out from an unseen source between two support beams in the low ceiling. The path ahead of you barrels toward a widening pinprick of light and stench. You pass others just like you, feeling the same emptying sensation with each breath. The sterile swish of your assigned clothing melts into an acrid sweat that you have never felt, even during the most rigorous hours you spent in the Fitness Pavilion.
You are frankly no longer sure of what is behind you.
You dash through beam after beam, deciding it is warm and unfamiliar. Strange light checkers the floor of a concrete hall.
