Another door creaked open, revealing its contents. Inside was a kitchen table—one woman at its end, moving about next to a stovetop.
At the other side was a younger Logan, rubbing his hands together with glee.
"Wrong one again," Logan remarked, slamming the door shut.
Something was off about him. His face was drenched with sweat, and his eyes jumped from door to door.
The rasp of his breath threw even Pixel off, causing her to lower herself to his shoulder. "Are you alright?" she asked, nudging his jaw just once with her puny limbs.
"No!" Logan yelled, swatting her free from his shoulder. She struggled to remain afloat, bobbling like a damaged drone. "We've been here for god knows how long, searching for what? I get that you want me to confront my trauma, but how! There's nothing but DOORS!"
His last scream pounced on the walls surrounding him, jumping his voice back and forth like he were caught in a big cave.
She didn't speak.
