Darker at Night

When It Ends

There's point where you decide that things are no longer real. I'd imagine most people he recently made that decision. For me, that was a long time ago. Being numb, that was my thing- especially in situations that prospered better in books rather than reality. I clenched the slip tightly enough that it cut me slightly. Time started moving for me again, this time at a steady pace. Everyone had just enough time to let their situation sink in.

The burly man twitched his eye and let out a large breath he seemed to have been holding in. "She's like what? 9?"

My body started to condense back into a ball. "...I'm 12."

"As if that's any different," he hissed, folding his arms. "So what? That's everyone. I'm sure your crotch is sufficiently-"

"There are children," the slender woman from the back interjected slicing her arm through the crowd.

"There's a massive bitch in here too."

If shock were a liquid, we might have drowned. The woman was stunned, twitching and trying her best to form an adequate reply. Her head shook from side to side as both her eyes and eyebrows raised. "How... how dare you..."

"It is at this point that we would like to continue the instruction," the speakers cracked before we could tumble down our path any further. When it looked like the two were about to interrupt, another sudden screech came from every point of the room. "We are entirely aware of your discomfort and for that we ask for your forgiveness. However, this experiment requires your full cooperation to come of any benefit to you or society as a whole."

The man paused for a bit, waiting for some sort of reaction. Half of us were silent and attentive, the other half mildly irritated but not in the mood to be screamed at again.

"We would like you to solve any and every situation that is presented to you according to the roles given. Please refrain from straying from the tasks given, unless you feel that it somehow turns back around to the goal. Please note that any unsatisfactory behavior will be met with an equal punishment."

The Priest pulled the hood off the back of his head. He seemed surprised by the phrase, despite it being par for the setting. "Punishment?"

"We will discuss that when the time comes. For now, let's start you on the first task: Escape."

"...Escape?" The Doctor wondered looking around the nearly pitch black room.

"Gas will fill this space within 20 minutes. Those unsuccessful will face the consequences."

With that the room fell silent for a minute or two. The man did not come back on to give more instructions or to urge us into action.

The engineer laughed for a bit and stretched out his arms. "This is all kind of pretentious, isn't it?"

The Lawyer boy scratched his pitch black hair and leaned back. He looked to the side, specifically to the Doctor, but asked as if he was asking everyone. "What do we do now?"

"Well, the guy did say we had to follow those paper things," the artist yawned. She reached over and patted me on the knee. "So, we should probably be asking the little darling over here."

Not everyone was looking at me this time, but it was enough pressure to get me thinking. In situations like this, where you can't do anything, where it might not even be real...

"...we should just do what he says." I say it as a bit of a whisper, but it's loud enough. A few eyes meet me with suspicion.

The Cook in particular took interest in my statement. He walked towards me and bent down, face to face with me. He reeked of alcohol. Without warning, he ripped me off of the ground by my collar. My heart started beating faster and faster as my limp limbs became squirming snakes. I latched my nails into his pudgy arms tighter the higher he held me. His expression of rage twitched between irritation and confusion. Suddenly, he dropped me.

"If we're doing anything, I call the shots here," the cook grunted, addressing the whole room. "If they want us to leave, we're going to fucking leave."

The Janitor woman began to stammer. "I- I don't think t-that-"

"Shut up." The cook pointed towards the opposite side of the room. It was too dark to see what he was pointing to, until he pulled the torch of the wall. There was a metal rectangle without a handle.

"I'm not sure what's going on, but I assume you're all looking at the door?" the engineer wondered as he made his way across the wall to the other side of the room. "I woke up by it."

The artist yawned. "Sooo, whaddu we do?"

The engineer smiled. He ran his right hand across the door until his fingers wrapped around some kind of circular frame. "We put that in this. The lit lantern you're carrying? I can hear it burning."

"It's... a torch? Duh?" The artist was apparently full of sass.

"I'm not touching it to find out."

The tattooed man spoke for a second time. "...Do any of you even realise what kind of situation we're in?"

"Nnnnnnope!" the little journalist exclaimed. "But it's like a puzzle game!"

"Shut up, all of you. Move." The cook waved the torch around like a mad man, clearing the way to the door. He placed the torch in the slot. As soon as he did, we heard a click. The room we were in began to shake and crumble. There was a sudden jolt of force, a swoosh, and a burst of air that hit us all at once. As the dust settled, we could see that the left wall had crumbled into dirt. There was more, too.

The cook had been shot in the side by an arrow.