You stand in the center of a grand circus tent, the air thick with the scent of sawdust and the sound of distant carnival music. Before you, the ringmaster, a formidable figure draped in black velvet and adorned with jewels, regards you with an inscrutable expression. She’s your captor. Your tormentor. At first, there was a crowd. Hundreds of people. Now, it was only you. The last one standing.

"You've reached the end of the game," she announces, her voice carrying over the hum of the bustling tent. It stank of indifferent malice, the words bit at your ears. "Congratulations, my dear player."

Relief washes over you, mingled with a sense of apprehension. You felt the weight of your actions, you had done awful things to make it to this point, to survive. You weren’t the strongest, nor the fastest, and not the smartest, but in your soul, a fire raged. The desire to live.

The ringmaster's lips curl into a sly smile, her eyes gleaming with amusement. She must’ve read your expression and sensed your thoughts as you wondered what was next. "Now, player, we perform one final game," she replies, the calm before the storm. Then, her voice boomed. “ENCORE!”

Your heart skips a beat as it begins the fact that you're not finished sets in. The ringmaster gestures toward a row of intricately carved doors, each one pulsing with a faintly otherworldly energy.

"You have a choice to make," she continues, her tone laced with a sense of foreboding. "Behind one of these doors lies your freedom. Behind the others... well, most of them won’t kill you. Consider them a final series of trials. Tests, if you will. Maybe you’ll get lucky– escape on your first try.”

You swallow hard, the weight of her words settling heavily upon your shoulders. “But I doubt it.”