Burning Beneath

The corridor stretched before them in an eerie silence, the metallic walls reflecting the dim overhead lights. Sam and Mia walked in step, their movements controlled, measured. They weren’t the only ones here—other pairs were being led into identical rooms, each door sliding open as if swallowing them whole.

A voice, smooth and neutral, echoed overhead:

“Each pair will enter separately. You will have exactly 30 minutes. Success means advancement. Failure means elimination.”

A door to their right hissed open.

Mia shot Sam a look. “So we’re just supposed to walk in?”

Sam studied the threshold, eyes scanning for anything out of place. There were no cameras visible, no hints of what awaited inside. But there was only one way forward.

“We don’t have a choice,” Sam muttered.

And with that, they stepped in.

The door sealed behind them.

The first thing Sam noticed was the stillness. Not a single hum of machinery, no faint sound of ventilation. Just pure silence.

The room itself was unremarkable—too unremarkable. White walls. A white ceiling. No windows. Nothing but a single wooden table in the center, two chairs neatly placed on either side.

On the table:

• Two identical cups of water, filled to the same level.
• A single sheet of paper with instructions.

Mia stepped forward, picking up the note. Her eyes scanned the words, and Sam watched as her expression twisted in disbelief.

Mia exhaled sharply. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

She read aloud:

“One of these cups contains a harmless drink. The other contains a substance that will disqualify you. Only one of you must drink. Choose wisely.”

Sam didn’t move.

The voice returned, flat and impassive.

“Thirty minutes. Choose.”

Mia turned to Sam. “What the hell is this? We just got here, and they’re already trying to knock us out?”

Sam wasn’t listening. Not really. Her mind was already breaking the scenario down. There was something wrong here.

She scanned the table again. The cups were positioned too perfectly. The handwriting on the paper was unnervingly precise, not handwritten but printed in a generic, emotionless font.

Her gut twisted. This isn’t a game of chance. This is a game of perception.

Mia sighed, pacing. “Okay, maybe we analyze the water? Smell it? Look for bubbles? If they think I’m drinking first, I’ll—”

Sam shook her head. “We’re not drinking anything.”

Mia stopped mid-step. “What?”

Sam folded her arms, motioning toward the paper. “It says ‘Only one of you must drink.’ It doesn’t say one of us has to.”

Mia frowned, taking another look. “That’s… just wording, though, right?”

Sam tapped the table. “No. It’s intentional. This test isn’t about risk—it’s about whether we follow instructions blindly.They want to see if we’re the kind of people who do what we’re told without questioning it.”

Mia let out a low whistle. “Damn. So the real test is if we refuse to play?”

Sam smirked. “Exactly.”

A long silence stretched between them.

Then, the voice returned.

“Correct.”

The door unlocked.

Mia let out a shaky breath, running a hand through her hair. “Holy shit. That was evil.”

Sam grabbed the note off the table, flipping it over. Nothing on the back. Just a blank sheet of paper—no hidden messages, no deeper clues. Just a trap.

“We passed,” she muttered, tossing the paper back down.

Mia shook her head. “I don’t like how that felt.”

“You’re not supposed to.”

They turned to the now-open door. One challenge down.

And whatever was waiting for them on the other side?

It was only going to get worse.