Lately, every day has blurred into the next. Wake up. Brush your teeth. Go to work. Come home. Eat dinner. Go to sleep. Repeat. Nothing changes. Nothing stands out. Just the same grey routine, looping endlessly like a broken reel.

Still, for some reason, you told yourself today might be different. Maybe it was the way the morning light looked when it spilled across the kitchen table. Or maybe it was just a desperate hope, clinging to the idea that something—anything—could disrupt the monotony.

You eat your breakfast without really tasting it. Toast, eggs, coffee—just fuel. Then you pack up your bag and leave. The sky outside is a dull, smog-stained grey. A wind blows that feels artificial, like it's coming from hidden vents rather than nature. You say nothing as you descend the stairs into the facility. No one does, really.

You reach the prep room, slide into your hazmat suit—routine again, muscle memory. Then, you descend into the lab.

And immediately, everything feels wrong.

The hum of machinery is gone. The flicker of terminal screens—absent. No footsteps. No voices. No clatter of tools or idle chatter. Just silence.

Your breath echoes loud inside your helmet.

You take a step forward. Then another.

The air is thick, strange. A smell hits you. Faint at first. Then stronger. It clings to everything. You can’t place it—latex? Metal? Blood? Burnt rubber? It twists in your nostrils, acidic and unnatural. You fight the instinct to gag.

The lights above flicker. Not completely out, but... uncertain, like they’re trying to stay on.

You glance ahead.

Two forcefields hum softly, pulsing with light. They block two of the corridors leading deeper into the lab. You already knew they’d be there—this place never lets you forget its layout—but something about them feels... different today. Off.

Behind one, a hallway. Behind the other, a dim crystal cave, blacker than usual.

You feel it in your spine—that tension, that primal sense of choice. No turning back. No waiting.

You adjust the straps on your suit. Your gloved hand hovers near your sidearm.

You swallow.

Which way will you go?