That ID badge seared my palm like a branding iron.

Rationality? Logic? Scientific method? All incinerated in that instant. My brain issued a single command: RUN.


I clutched the "future" badge in my fist, spun around, and bolted. No checking the weird map on my phone, no carefully choosing directions. I just picked a corridor and ran like hell.

My lungs burned with each ragged breath, the taste of copper on my tongue. Sweat poured into my eyes, blinding me with salt and sting. I didn't care. All I knew was I had to escape that figure, that face, that predetermined fate of despair.

Corridors twisted and stretched before me. Left, right, straight ahead. Was I making progress or running in circles? The place seemed to toy with me, walls sliding past with almost mocking fluidity. How long had I been running? Minutes? Hours? Time had no meaning here.


My strength gave out. My legs turned to concrete, each step a monumental effort. At a corner, my foot caught on nothing and I crashed face-first onto the hard floor.

I lay sprawled on the freezing concrete, lungs heaving, heart threatening to explode. This was it. No escape.


I forced my head up, and that's when I saw it.

I wasn't in a corridor anymore. I'd stumbled into an open space—an enormous, perfectly circular chamber.

The chamber walls were the same gray concrete, but dozens of doors lined the curved perimeter. Each identical to the one I'd first entered through—featureless, handleless, without keyholes.

In the center of the floor, a massive symbol was etched into the ground—identical to the one on the doors. It emitted a faint, sickly white glow that illuminated the entire chamber, revealing every detail with unnatural clarity.

Dozens of identical doors. Which one led out? Or did they all just lead deeper into this nightmare?

Despair crashed over me. I slumped against the wall, utterly defeated.

I stared at my open palm. A stranger's hand. Covered in tiny cuts and abrasions from my desperate flight. Skin roughened, knuckles swollen from impact. These hands looked years older than the ones I remembered.

I sat there, time losing all meaning.

Then a door directly across from me made a soft click.

It swung open.

Someone stepped through. He wore a pristine blue janitor's uniform, phone extended with flashlight activated. His expression was painfully familiar: that mixture of curiosity, confusion, and the stubborn confidence of someone who believes in rational explanations.

He entered the chamber, turning slowly in a complete circle, his light beam sweeping across each silent door before finally landing on me.

I stared at his face.

It was my face.

It was me from hours ago—or perhaps centuries ago—the "me" who had first discovered that door and naively believed he could master it with logic and methodology. His eyes still held hope. He was still intact.

I opened my mouth to warn him.

"RUN!"

"GET OUT!"

"IT'S A TRAP!"

But no sound emerged. My throat sealed shut, vocal cords frozen. I could only watch in helpless horror as my past self walked steadily toward the center of the chamber.

He spotted me, frowning with concern. He probably thought I was a colleague who'd gotten lost, or someone needing help. He moved toward me, mouth opening to speak.

The instant both his feet cleared the threshold, fully entering the chamber—

BANG!

A deafening sound like a hundred doors slamming at once.

Every single door around the chamber—including the one he'd just entered through—slammed shut simultaneously.

The echoes crashed and reverberated throughout the circular chamber before fading into absolute silence.