Trapped in a Mob Surgical Room with 10 Minutes to Escape His Neighbor's Deadly Trap
👉 Previous Decision: You chose to slice open the surgical stitches on your abdomen to search for an embedded key.
Leo’s hands trembled, the cold steel of the scalpel a foreign weight against his skin. He pressed the blade to the fresh, angry seam on his abdomen. A low whimper caught in his throat.
He forced himself to cut, a sharp, searing pain blossoming across his stomach. The thick black thread parted. Blood bloomed, soaking into the torn fabric of his shirt, warm and slick against his fingers.
He clawed at the wound, desperate, his vision blurring from panic and the metallic tang in the air. Beneath the shallow cut, beneath the gash he’d just opened on himself, there was nothing. No key. Nothing but the slick, cool plastic of a small dummy tracker, embedded just under the surface. It was a cruel, psychological trick. Designed to make him mutilate himself.
A sharp, digital chime echoed through the warehouse. The timer on his wrist flashed 00:00.
Then, a low hiss. The ceiling vent above him swept open with a mechanical groan. A dense, green chemical vapor began to flood the sealed room. It smelled faintly of bleach and something acrid, burning his nostrils.
His lungs seized. He coughed, a ragged, desperate sound. The air grew heavy, each breath a struggle. His legs buckled beneath him, the raw pain in his stomach ignored as his body fought for oxygen. The room spun, the outlines of the cold gurney and the rusted walls blurring into a toxic fog.
He stumbled backwards, a hand reaching for the solid metal door, a futile gesture against the encroaching silence.
➡️ Read CHAPTER 3 to continue the story.
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