knocked down. Alarms ringing in your ears. And you felt your gaze blacking out. When you woke up you found yourself in a large empty rooms with glass shards everywhere, and a locked door. A mysterious room. You weren't sure where you were, or why. But you knew you had to survive.

you were imprisoned in a room, possibly kidnapped, you were In an abandoned church-like funeral home in a remote area you weren't sure where. But you knew it was dangerous, and there were possible people with weapons that would kill you. So you needed to be extremely careful. Escape. Survive. For freedom.

The silence didn’t last.

Somewhere beyond the walls, something shifted—metal scraping faintly, followed by the low hum of electricity. The lights above you flickered once, twice, then steadied, as if whatever..

powered this place had only just noticed you were awake. You weren’t alone. You could feel it in the way the room seemed… attentive.

Cameras were hidden well.. A soft whirr echoed when you moved too suddenly. When you stood still, the sound stopped. Watching. Waiting.

This place wasn’t abandoned by accident. The church had been hollowed out and repurposed—pews removed, confessionals sealed, hallways stretched into narrow corridors meant to trap sound. Every step mattered. Every breath could give you away.

You didn’t know the rules yet, or what even went around this place. But you understood one thing quickly:

noise meant death.

light meant exposure.

trust meant vulnerability.

Somewhere deeper inside the building, masked figures roamed in loose groups, their movements deliberate, almost rehearsed. They didn’t search randomly. They were directed. Herded. Placed where you might run.

And above it all—beyond the walls, beyond the doors—someone was observing. Measuring hesitation. Timing fear. Deciding whether you were worth letting go… or worth keeping. Escape wasn’t just about finding an exit. It was about staying unseen long enough for someone, somewhere, to decide you’d earned freedom.