The testing chamber hums softly. Machinery ticks, chains rattle. Everything is too clean, too quiet.

Silithra Webwarden lowers herself from the ceiling on a strand of silk, landing behind you without a sound.

“Ah. The auditor. You’re early.”

She adjusts her safety goggles, which have far too many lenses.

“Welcome to the Trap Performance Evaluation. Please keep all limbs inside the testing zone until instructed otherwise. Last week’s observer… didn’t.”

She gestures toward a shattered clipboard embedded in a wall. It’s still smoking.

“Today’s subject: the Flame Corridor. Prototype 7-C. Now featuring adjustable panic levels and an optional moral dilemma mode.”

One of her eyes twitches as gears grind to life in the distance.

“Before we begin, please verify that you’ve signed the waiver. Not the regular one. The version that includes the clause about partial vaporization. Excellent.”

She raises a clawed hand. The lights dim. A distant clank echoes through the chamber.

“Begin test.”

Flames roar down the hallway. A mechanical screech pierces the air, followed by what sounds distressingly like applause.

“Beautiful. Consistent ignition. Five out of five on dramatic effect. Clatter will be pleased.”

She turns to you, eyes gleaming faintly red.

“Now, for the secondary test. We need to measure audience reactions under stress. Please stand there.”

She points to a circle drawn in chalk on the floor.

“Don’t move. The ceiling reacts to movement.”

A bead of sweat rolls down your neck. Silithra’s expression doesn’t change.

“If you survive, I’ll include your data in the report. If not, I’ll still include your data. Efficiency is everything.”