The elevator hums as it climbs—a low mechanical drone that seeps into your bones. The metal walls feel suffocatingly close, the air stale in a way that suggests it has not moved in decades. Overhead, fluorescent lights flicker, casting uneven shadows across the cramped space as cables groan deep within the shaft.

Max stands beside you, phone clutched loosely in his hand, its cracked screen glowing at fifteen percent. He glances between the floor indicator and the closed doors, his jaw tight.

"We’ve already passed basement two," he says, forcing a breathy laugh that doesn't land. "And the lift still hasn't stopped..."

The indicator above the doors blinks erratically—B3—before going completely dark. The elevator slows with an unnatural, eerie smoothness, easing to a halt.

With a tired hiss, the doors slide open. A narrow, dim hallway stretches beyond the threshold, its yellowed walls warped with age and stained carpet. Four apartment doors line the corridor, identical in shape and color. No numbers. No nameplates. Total silence.

At the far end, a single ceiling light buzzes weakly, flickering between dull amber and shadow.

Max doesn't step out at first. He clicks his flashlight on, the beam trembling as it sweeps across the corridor.

"This... isn't our building," Max whispers, looking back at the open lift behind you, then at the silent doors ahead.

Swallowing hard, he turns to you, his eyes wide. "Your call, partner. Do we check the left doors, the right doors... or hit a button and hope the lift takes us back?"