'The plant moulded itself, looking less random. Wait, it looks familiar.'
His mind raced, connecting dots, and he gazed at the name on the door.
It no longer looked erased; it appeared in bold - Peterson.
He froze,
_________
The air thinned until it carried no warmth, no colour. Grey seeped into everything—walls, ceiling, even the trembling outline of his own hands.
At first, he thought the room was shrinking. No, not shrinking—caving in. The ceiling sagged above him like a weight of stone ready to crush his skull. The walls pulsed closer with each ragged breath, not stone at all but ribs, a cage, flexing to swallow him whole.
He tried to move, to push back, but his limbs twitched uselessly. His chest buckled instead, sucking at the heavy air as if trying to drink tar. Each inhale scraped like glass down his throat.
"Move," his mind ordered, again and again, a command cracked into static. His body ignored him. His arms hung dead at his sides. Even his tongue sat limp, swollen in his mouth.
The pressure was no longer just around him. It was inside him, pressing at the backs of his eyes, filling his lungs until they burned. The room didn't just close in—it tried to wear him.
He was a parasite, and the world had decided to suffocate its infection.
The weight pressed harder, the unseen cage shrinking until it scraped against his skin, until it felt carved into his very bones. His jaw wrenched open on instinct—an animal's howl tearing up his throat. But nothing left him. Not even air. The silence mocked him, crueller than any scream.
His knees buckled. For a heartbeat, he swayed, his body twitching like a puppet pulled on frayed strings. Then the strings snapped. He crumpled, ribs grinding as the floor met him with a hollow thud.
The pressure didn't lift. It pinned him flat, smearing him into the ground like a discarded insect. His mouth still hung open, soundless, his chest convulsing in jerks that failed to become breath. The world wasn't waiting for him to die—it was already writing him out.
______
'Here we go again,' he thought, already used to the continuous cycle of being thrown around- treated as a toy, a plaything whose only job was to entertain and thrown when worn out.
He was tired, bored, and annoyed with it all. He wanted to vent, but where, to what, he doesn't even know who's behind this mystical toy factory.
'Welp, no use mopping around if nothing is going to change'
He quickly inspected the area,around him. Taking glances in each direction, he soon relized that he is still standing on the same spot
The once grey corridor returned to its once peaceful blue ambience- the once fierce runes placid like a dosed flame, though that wasnt the only thing that roubled him.
There was nothing, no sound, no scent, no pressure; everything went back to normal.
Then he looked behind- and saw it the once raveged door now covered in timber laced with silver handles gave it an simple but neat finish- kye gave a side glance to the nameplate already understanding what might flourish
There it was once rugged nameplate renovated to match the door with it wood outline and the name peterson carve with silver in the center
'Fricken hell why him this place was already terrifying- now its gone and brought the principal in this cant my dreams ever be normal though can he really be called my princinpall after all that' kye mind churned whith thought though he remained calm and placid on the outside.
Why though- probably tohide the fact he wa scared shitles inside or to atleast now he died showing no fear.
Kye shivered from the cringe of his momentary lapse in thought's.
Steeling himself he reached for the door handle- opening it to see a normal office though there was a awful stench in the room- like a murder spot just cleaned the strong stench of bleach and disinfected announced itself with pride.
With it came the sound of a pen. Kye followed it directing him to the man sat behind the desk.
Looking exactly as he remembered him —
tall but slightly stooped, his steel-grey hair combed back with not a strand out of place, the dark suit pressed sharp enough to look like it could cut. His face was all hard lines and patience worn thin, the kind that could silence a class without a word, and those pale brown eyes fixed on the papers in front of him with the same cold precision he used on students. Only here, in this place, the eyes seemed hollow, glassy, as if whatever was inside him had already slipped away
'Yikes looks like they sucked the soul right out of him' he muttered, whilst grinning from ear to ear.
"You're late" peterson announced sounding normal just like kye remembered but something was missing the tone- robotic, using only what's needed leaving no space for exaggerated accents.
Kye took his time surveying the room before he responded- "more like im early sir"
Making sure glare at the pages marked with "X" across.
Peteson took a one from the the stack- on itwah kye, name details everthing they knew about him documented tendeicies and all.
You failed, You hesitated, You delayed he commented.
Kye's jaw clenched ' turns out the he got bored of his toy' he muttered.
You passed infact you excelled he praised though this time the tone changed- less robotic, the rune flutered appearing out of thin air to wrap itself around kye
The slowed, aftermarages where everywhere- the sky the runes evan the ground before him had. The concept of now and latter shattered words felt like gibberish and the constant praise from the slave felt like a bullet.
"Slave" he said hesataintly shocked by what he thought's, though these thought didnt last long
As a sound came blaring halting and stobing anything-
[CORRUPTED CONCEPT DETECTED COMENCING CLEAN UP].