With a watch on his wrist, no memory of his past, and a puzzle-filled room, Atlas tries desperately to escape the elevators.
Upon waking to darkness, Atlas stumbles into the white room. His desire for answers driving his feet to move. In the firs...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
As the doors parted, Atlas stepped out into a different room. Unlike the previous one, this one was vibrant with color. Each wall was a different shade of the rainbow. The floor and ceiling showcased a beautiful blue and luscious purple to match. Abstract works, patterns of shapes, and colors with what seemed to be very little symbolic meaning adorned the walls.
No. Not again.
Atlas felt the dread wash over him once more. This was supposed to be his escape. Why was he here? Anguish and anger threatened to break through his resolve. He couldn't let them win. He would have to find another way out.
Taking the first step out of the elevator, he was shocked to discover the floor's rubbery consistency. Each time his foot hit the ground, he bounced ever so slightly. As he made his way across the unsteady and elastic flooring, he was sure to walk carefully and slowly. The slow pace agitated him. It was only impeding his escape.
Atlas headed towards the furthest wall of the room, which was green as grass. An ornate pedestal decorated with various spirals and figures stood slightly offset from the center of the wall. It was already clear to him that escape would not be easy. The elevator had opened last time after he solved some sort of puzzle.
Maybe it was the same: solve the puzzle to move on?
He shook his head in frustration.
"I'd rather not play these games much longer," Atlas vocalized to no one in particular. His voice reverberated through the artwork. He could hear the exasperation in his voice, and with a sigh, went to find the discrepancy.
Visually, the room appeared normal. Ordinary except for the abundance of color. It almost reminded Atlas of an art gallery.
Have I ever been to an art gallery?
As quickly as the thought appeared, it vanished. Atlas blinked as he tried to remember, but he failed. It felt as if his thoughts were being suppressed. He squeezed his eyes shut as if he could will the idea back. His teeth gritted with effort but did not aid him in achieving his goal. The memory was gone. Atlas stomped angrily over to the pedestal he had previously set out towards before his distraction. He quickly went back to work. Escape should be the only thought in his mind, not some silly art gallery. Even so, the memory teased the back of his skull.
Nothing had turned up for Atlas thus far. Just when he was about to give up, he felt a shift in the texture of the floor. The friction lurched his body to a halt, almost causing him to fall. Reaching down, he expected to feel the soft rubber that encased the entire floor but was met with a solid surface. Standing upright, Atlas proceeded to prod the surface with his foot. It sunk in ever so slightly beneath the base level of the floor.
The sudden movement provoked him to pull his foot back. Eyeing the surface suspiciously, he slowly pressed his foot to it once more. The surface yielded again, groaning and scraping against concrete. Getting brave, Atlas put his whole weight on the square surface to test it. Nothing more happened, save for a minute depression in the square where he had forced it down.
