The air in the trial grounds was thick with the smell of wet sawdust and copper. You pressed your back against the cold, rusted metal of a shipping container, your breath coming in shallow, jagged hitches.

From around the corner, the rhythmic, metallic clack-clack-clack of the drill sounded. It was followed by that voice—high, warbling, and terrifyingly motherly.

"Now, now, little lamb," Mother Gooseberry cooed, her voice echoing off the concrete walls. "You can't hide from Mama forever. We have so much cleaning up to do!"

You squeezed your eyes shut, sliding down the wall until you were huddled in the shadows. You could hear the wet slap of her footsteps approaching.

Don’t breathe. Don’t move.

A floorboard groaned just inches from your hiding spot. For a second, the humming stopped. The silence was worse than the noise.

"Found you!"

The container door was ripped back with a violent screech of metal. Gooseberry stood there, her silhouette towering and jagged in the dim light. The puppet’s face was inches from yours, its painted eyes wide and mocking.

"There you are! Naughty, naughty girl, skipping your lessons," she chirped.

You tried to scramble away, but your boots slipped on the slick floor. Before you could find your footing, she lunged, and a heavy shadow swung through the air. The world exploded into a dull, white flash, your knees buckled, and everything faded into a quiet, heavy dark.

When you finally blinked your eyes open, the world was blurry and cold. You were in an unfamiliar room, dimly lit by a flickering overhead bulb. You tried to shift, to reach out, but your arms and legs wouldn't move—held firmly in place against a heavy chair.