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He turned left. Was this the way out? Each white hallway looked exactly the same.
They had asked him to join a scientific study. He hadn't known that meant leading him blindfolded into a maze and starting a timer. Shouting and banging on the walls had done nothing. They wanted him to find his way out.
He turned left again—and sniffed the air. He smelled animal musk.
A growl shook the floor.
He had made a faulty assumption.
He wasn't the lab rat finding his way out of the maze. He was the treat for the rat to find.
