Page 185 of Chalk Outline
Winona Bishop
Welcome To The Circus — FFDP
“I need to find the security room,” says Braxton as he swipes the key card over the tablet and waits for the gate to rise.
The second room was yellow—a game of lies.
The third was purple—a game of betrayal.
And now, the fourth room is neon red. The sign on the wall reads:kill or be killed. Find out which game you’ll play by passing through the fourth gate.
We stand in a small semicircle.
“That wasn’t in the blueprints,” I reply to Braxton. “The prison is shaped like the digital number 2 with endless rooms on both sides—some have signs, some don’t. There are ten gates in total. And only one exit. All I know is that there are two entrances, one through land and one through a stream.”
“Stream...” Mitch echoes, “Is it an actual stream or wordplay? It could be around a stream...”
“Wait,” I say as I calculate his words in my head. “Stream doesn’t necessarily mean liquid; it could mean air or gas.”
“Right,” Braxton confirms eagerly. “Like a stream of cold air. In order to ensure proper airflow, there must be vents, and if there are vents, there could be a large propeller somewhere to circulate the air and prevent the system from overheating.”
“So that’s not an entrance, that’s our exit,” I declare with a grin as the realization strikes.
“It’s your time to shine, Brax.” Mitch points to the gate. “We’ll search Reeve, you go and find that mysterious propeller.”
“No. You go together, and I’ll search Reeve. If we lose each other, we’ll meet at the sixth gate. If we come up empty-handed, we’ll keep going.”
“Copy.”
They say together.
Once the fourth gate is lifted and we step through it, a heavy metal song blares from the speakers.
Red neon lights illuminate the semi-dark corridor.
Kill or be killed.
Gunshots blast throughout the prison. Chopped off screams reverberate and are followed by groans of pain.
I duck just as a brick flies over my head and shoot the man in front of me. He collapses onto the floor, plunging into a crimson pool, and that’s when I realize there are a dozen dead bodies scattered through the entrance.
The stale smell of feces and urine assaults my nose.
I grimace in disgust.
“Oh, god, it smells like puke in here.” Braxton makes horrible retching sounds. “There’s a dead rat in here, too.”
“Pretend like it doesn’t exist,” Mitch utters between gags.
I naively thought it was a prison with a torture system that extracts information from criminals, but it’s a rage-induced chaos.
Mitch opens a blue door, and we file inside.
The room is vacant.
A single light bulb hangs in the center.
“Don’t stay for too long or you’ll lose,” I read the message on the demising wall.
