You wake up to an endless maze of liminal spaces—interconnected rooms and hallways that stretch on forever, with no discernible escape. The air reeks of damp, mildew-soaked carpet. The walls, a sickly monotone yellow, seem to close in on you, and the constant, droning hum of the fluorescent lights above burrows into your mind, relentless and oppressive.

Your memory is hazy, fragmented, as if reality itself slipped away. All you can recall is the moment you fell—through the floor. And now, here you are.

(What would you do?)