The Rat in the Maze (Poofless-esque)

Contortionist

You decide to keep going, at least until you can come up with a better plan. You see the end of the lines of rectangles of light coming up in the distance, just past the shadow of a cement pillar. Scolding yourself harshly, you let go of all thoughts of leaving without your best friend. Can you still call him your "best friend" when he said those things about you?

Something cold, smooth, and metallic slips past your fingers and you realize that you have lost your grip on the air vents. The scraps of mold-rotted insulation litter the air around you as you crash through the ceiling, bringing chunks of broken plaster tiles down with you.

Gravity is unforgiving as you fall flat on your back on the hard tile floor two storeys below, the debris cutting up your face not even registering as the impact rattles your immaterial soul. You land with a disgusting crunch and the fall knocks the air out of your lungs. You have an overwhelming urge to cough, but your lungs have even less air than your heart does hope. No matter how long you lay there, the air never comes back to you; it just gets harder, harder, harder to breathe. After a while, you realize that somewhere along the line you lost control of your bladder, and the rest of you, for that matter.

You feel absolutely nothing except the growing pressure in your chest.

You feel like a rat in a snap trap: hopelessly stuck and unable to move a single muscle. Even if you somehow got out of here, nothing could give you back the life you used to have, the freedom you had just minutes ago.

When they finally find you, you feel the corners of your mouth turn upward in relief as their bloodstained weapons put you out of your misery.

You died.

Respawn?