The walls were breathing again.
Not metaphorically—literally. Like the hallway had developed lungs. Or maybe it had always had them, and now it was just flexing.
Thea stepped forward cautiously. "This is it," she muttered.
Igor followed, eyebrows raised. "I feel like we're about to be birthed. Or devoured. Honestly, I don't know which is worse."
The corridor pulsed around them. Lights flickered overhead. The voice—that voice—returned, perky and mechanical:
"Thank you for participating in Level 13: Uncanny Closure. We hope you enjoyed confronting your irreversible regrets. Now please exit through the mouth."
"What did it just say?" Thea blinked.
Igor pointed. "That."
Ahead, a pair of sliding doors had opened into what could only be described as... a giant mouth. Teeth and all. Plush pink tongue. Uvula swaying.
"I'm not walking into a mouth," Thea said firmly.
"It's either that or back into the haunted kindergarten where everything smells like glue and judgment," Igor replied.
She groaned.
They entered.
Inside the Exit
Turns out, the mouth was an elevator.
But instead of buttons, there were feelings. Literally. Emotions labeled in squishy, red bubble letters. One read "Regret." Another "Nostalgia." One glowed "Crippling Anxiety."
"I'm not pressing that," Thea said.
Igor shrugged. "Fine. Let's hit 'Mild Confusion' and ride the vibe."
He tapped it. The elevator groaned, whirred, and then rocketed upward with the sound of a kazoo solo played in reverse. Both screamed—not out of fear, but out of what-the-actual-hell bewilderment.
When the doors opened again, they weren't in a room.
They were in a theater.
Welcome to the Grand Finale
Rows of velvet seats stretched into a dark void. Onstage stood a lone figure in a sparkly tuxedo made of TV static. His head was a cube-shaped monitor flashing images: Thea's fourth birthday. Igor's sixth-grade science fair. Their failed attempt to build a treehouse (it collapsed in under 12 minutes).
"Ladies and Gentlemen," the figure boomed, "Congratulations! You made it to the final test!"
They stared.
"Who are you?" Thea asked.
"Your Host. Your Curator. Your Algorithmically Optimized Life Path Overseer!" He twirled.
Igor raised a hand. "You mean, like, a deeply unqualified God?"
The Host beamed. "Exactly!"
Behind him, the curtains parted.
A giant wheel spun. On it, words like EXIT, REBOOT, SLEEP FOREVER, and BECOME THE NEW HOST.
The Host bowed. "One spin. That's the rule. That's the deal. That's the very funny little twist."
"No," Thea said.
"Not a chance," Igor echoed.
"Ah, but that's the beauty of it," the Host purred. "You've already been chosen. Years ago. You just didn't know it. Every choice. Every twitch of doubt. We've been watching. Grooming. Curating."
"Sounds like stalking with extra steps," Igor muttered.
"Spin it, and you're free," the Host insisted.
They exchanged a glance.
Then Thea stepped forward.
But instead of spinning, she kicked the wheel. It flew off the stage, hit a spotlight, and exploded into confetti and the distant sound of a duck quacking.
Everyone paused.
The Host blinked.
"You weren't supposed to do that."
"Yeah?" Thea said. "You weren't supposed to mess with our lives."
Igor joined her. "We want out. No more games. No more trials. Just... out."
The Host sighed.
"Fine. Manual override it is."
The Truth Room
A door slid open.
Inside: a sterile white lab. Glass walls. Floating monitors. Rows of pods—hundreds of them. People inside, unconscious. Hooked to machines. Faces slack.
One had Thea's name on it.
Another had Igor's.
"Sleep pods," the Host explained, suddenly far less flamboyant. "You've been here for 12 days. Everything you saw—staged. Simulated. Triggers pulled from your memories."
Thea frowned. "But... that means..."
"None of it was real?" Igor asked.
"No," the Host said. "It was all real enough. The fear was real. The decisions, the betrayals, the friendships. Real data. Real stakes."
"And the guy with no face who wanted to marry my shadow?" Igor pressed.
"Especially real."
He sighed. "Of course."
On the central console, two buttons lit up: Wake Up or Stay.
"Your choice," the Host said. "But if you stay, you become part of the next simulation. Invaluable assets. Guiding others. Shaping levels."
Thea leaned over to Igor. "Let's pretend we're thinking about it."
He nodded. "Stall him. I'll do something stupid and brave."
She turned to the Host. "Okay. But can we see our data first? I want to know how much of this nightmare was about my crippling fear of sentient appliances."
"Certainly!" He turned.
That was the moment Igor dropkicked the console.
System Failure
Alarms blared. Lights turned crimson.
Pods sparked. Monitors cracked.
The Host screamed, voice glitching: "NO! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU'VE DONE?!"
"Yeah," Igor said, dragging Thea to the exit. "We gave your mainframe an existential wedgie."
The ground shook.
The Host's tuxedo unraveled into wires. His monitor-head flickered rapidly—then stopped on an old school photo of Thea and Igor in kindergarten, grinning wildly in plastic crowns.
"Always… them…" he whispered.
Then he collapsed into a pile of glitter and static.
They ran.
Final Exit
Back through the mouth. Past the emotions elevator. Down the breathing hallway.
They burst out into—
A train station.
The same one.
Only this time, it was different.
People bustled. Trains whooshed. Announcements made actual sense.
The sign above the platform read: "EXIT COMPLETE. PLEASE ENJOY REALITY RESPONSIBLY."
They looked at each other.
"Are we… back?" Thea whispered.
Igor kicked a vending machine. It dispensed a snack.
He shrugged. "Seems real enough."
They walked outside.
It was dawn. The sky was rose-tinted. A bird pooped on a Tesla.
Yup. Reality.
Six Months Later
Thea and Igor sat in their favorite cafe.
Behind them, a kid was arguing with a smart mirror about wearing socks.
"I still check my microwave for cameras," Thea said, sipping her coffee.
Igor nodded. "I asked a therapist if it's normal to dream about haunted IKEA chairs. She told me I was repressing something. I told her I sat through worse."
They clinked mugs.
"What do you think it meant?" she asked. "The experiment?"
"Maybe we weren't being tested," Igor said. "Maybe we were the control group."
She snorted. "Well, we sure controlled the chaos."
"To be fair, I also tried to arm-wrestle a possessed vending machine."
"Which you won."
"Exactly. You're welcome."
They sat in silence a moment, watching the street bustle.
Then Thea leaned closer.
"Do you ever get the feeling someone's still watching?"
Igor smirked.
"Always."
He pointed behind her.
A drone hovered silently, scanning faces. One of its lights flickered and turned off.
Then it flew away.
They both stared.
Then laughed.
Meanwhile, Somewhere Else…
In a dark room, monitors lined the walls.
One flickered with footage of Thea and Igor drinking coffee.
Another with unread messages:
PROJECT LEVEL UNKNOWN: STATUS — OFFLINE
RECOVERY ATTEMPT — INITIATED
PHASE THREE: SEEDS HAVE BEEN PLANTED
A figure stepped forward. Face obscured.
"Let's see what they do with round three."
They pressed a button.
A new file opened:
LEVEL: UNKNOWN— FRACTURED SIGNAL
THE END...?
Or just the intermission.
Because every escape is just another entrance.
And Thea and Igor?
They're just getting warmed up.