You awaken with a jolt, your head throbbing, vision blurred as you try to make sense of your surroundings. The air is cold and stale, thick with the scent of damp concrete and faint hints of metal. As your eyes adjust to the dim, flickering light above, you begin to take in the small, barren room around you—smooth, gray walls with no windows, and a single door across from where you’re lying. The silence is absolute, oppressive, broken only by the sound of your own breathing.

Sitting beside you on the floor is a small piece of paper, neatly folded. It’s the only object in the room, stark against the bleakness. The edges are worn, as though it’s been handled many times, and a faint, crimson cross is stamped on the top corner. With trembling hands, you pick it up and unfold it, reading the message scrawled in an elegant, yet chilling script:

"Good morning, curious one." "Welcome to The Sherlock Rooms—a place where the brave, the foolish, and the desperate come to test the depths of their wits… or, perhaps, to meet their end."

"You have entered of your own accord, whether you know it or not. Pride led you here, but pride alone will not save you. Every step you take, every choice you make, will either lead you closer to freedom or seal your fate."

"The first rule? Think carefully. Haste will be your undoing."

"Good luck. I’ll be watching."

The note ends with a small, unsettling flourish beneath the signature—a nameless insignia, a cross twisted into something unholy. As you finish reading, a soft, almost mocking click echoes in the room. The door across from you unlocks, beckoning you forward into the unknown.

Your journey through The Sherlock Rooms has begun.