The black corridor opened like a throat. Steam coiled out from its jawless mouth, and Ash stepped through before he could think twice. Behind him, the metal doors groaned and then sealed with a low hydraulic hiss, as if the building itself was exhaling its last breath.
There was no going back.
The air inside the maze was wrong—thick, humid, laced with the sting of oil and ozone. It clung to his skin like sweat that didn't belong to him. The lights above were narrow strips embedded in the ceiling, flickering just enough to hide the corners and cast everything in pale gray. Not quite light. Not quite shadow. The kind of in-between place where bad things felt at home.
Ash didn't know where to go.
No map. No sign. No compass but the tight ache in his stomach and the rule he whispered to himself under his breath: Keep left. Always left. Don't stop.
The first corner came quickly. He took it, brushing his fingers along the cold wall as he moved. Smooth steel. Damp. Every ten paces, he passed a seam in the metal like hidden panels. Vents above let out soft white plumes of mist. Somewhere behind them, cameras ticked softly—tracking him.
Watching.
Judging.
A figure dashed past him from a hallway on the right. A boy—thin, maybe nine, barefoot. His breathing was sharp, ragged. Panic poured off him like sweat.
"Hey—" Ash called.
The boy didn't stop. He bolted toward the next corridor and turned the corner full sprint.
Ash held his breath.
Then, suddenly—
A scream.
Sharp. Short.
Then gone.
No crash. No cry. Just cut off, like scissors snipping sound from air.
Ash backed up against the wall, eyes wide. His heart hammered so hard he thought it might bruise his ribs. Whatever was around that corner—it didn't want to be seen. He turned away from it, quickening his pace.
Keep left. Keep moving.
The next stretch of maze was narrower. Pipes ran overhead like exposed veins, dripping condensation. The floor curved slightly downward and the smell changed—less metal now. More... rot.
He passed a dented door with claw marks on it. Faint, but real. And they were on the inside.
Ash didn't stop to wonder what made them.
He turned the next corner and almost tripped over something—small and plastic. A necklace. Cheap, pink and green beads strung together. A child's.
Someone had dropped it.
Or died with it.
He stared at it for a second, then scooped it up and stuffed it in his pocket. Not because it would help. Not because it made sense. But because someone had cared about it once, and now they were probably gone.
He kept walking.
Another corridor opened wide into a square chamber. It was different—cleaner. White light above. The air felt still. And in the middle of the room stood a black pedestal.
On it: a red token.
Round. Smooth. It glowed faintly, like it was made to be seen from a distance. Like bait.
Ash didn't move right away.
He scanned the room—corners, ceiling, floor. No movement. No sounds.
He stepped forward. One foot. Then the other.
Nothing happened.
Closer now. The token shimmered like blood under water.
He reached out—
A sharp sound behind him. Metal boots.
Ash spun around.
Two kids. Older. One tall and lean, with a buzzed head and a cruel mouth. The other shorter, stocky, eyes darting everywhere. Both breathing fast. Both eyeing the token.
Buzzcut grinned. "Hey, lucky boy," he said, voice low, almost friendly. "Looks like you found one."
Ash took a step back. "There are others."
"Sure," said Buzzcut, stepping into the light. "But we don't like running."
The second boy moved to block the doorway.
Ash's fingers curled into fists.
Buzzcut lunged.
Ash ducked—but too slow. A fist cracked across his jaw and he staggered. His hand smacked the pedestal and knocked the token spinning across the floor.
The second boy dove for it.
Ash scrambled, kicked, felt his foot connect with ribs.
Grunts. Scrapes.
Buzzcut grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the wall. "You don't need the token, kid."
Ash spat in his face.
Buzzcut flinched.
That's when Ash dropped to the floor, rolled toward the token, grabbed it—
And ran.
He didn't look back.
Didn't hear pursuit.
They were too busy fighting each other now.
He ran until his legs felt like liquid.
Turn after turn. Left, left, left. The maze began to blur. The same walls. Same lights. Same whispering vents.
But now he had the token in his fist.
It felt heavier than he expected.
Not just in weight.
In meaning.
He stopped in a narrow corridor and leaned against the wall, panting. Sweat burned in his eyes. Blood dripped from his lip.
He heard a soft noise behind him—footsteps.
Ash froze.
Then slipped into a narrow duct cut into the wall.
It was barely wide enough to crawl through, but he squeezed in. The metal scraped his back. He tucked his knees and held his breath.
Someone passed by the vent opening.
A girl this time. Older. Taller. Her eyes were sharp, alert, too calm. She carried a pipe in one hand—and someone's shirt tied around the other. It was stained red.
She stopped. Turned.
Ash didn't breathe.
She stared at the vent like she knew. Her hand reached for the pipe—
A siren blared. High, shrill. Echoing through the maze.
The girl turned and ran.
A robotic voice crackled overhead.
"TEN MINUTES REMAINING."
Ash crawled out, heart thundering.
He ran.
Twisting halls. Strobing lights. A narrow stairwell appeared on his left that hadn't been there before. He took it without thinking.
At the top—another chamber.
This one… quieter. Almost peaceful.
Inside, a boy sat slumped against the wall. Maybe seven. Tears streaked his dirt-covered cheeks.
He looked up at Ash.
"Please," the boy whispered. "Do you have one?"
Ash hesitated.
The boy pointed to a blank pedestal. "There wasn't one in here."
Footsteps again. Coming fast.
The girl. She was close.
Ash looked down at the token in his palm.
Looked at the boy.
Then back at the door.
The footsteps stopped just outside.
The decision Ash made next would follow him for the rest of his life..........