It should be better than this.

5.

He stood before a platform, followed by a range of apparatus, seeming to stretch on far beyond that of his vision. There was no one else in sight, at least none that he knew of, as a fog made it impossible to tell. An assistant robot rolled out of nowhere onto the platform, holding what seemed to be a clipboard and stopwatch. It soon dawned on him what was happening, as he prepared to start.

3...2...1... Begin.

The robot sounded a horn, and he was off. He leapt in a fluid movement over to some hanging bars, swinging effortlessly onto a steel drum filled with paint, landing atop it with a light thump. From there he sprang from drum to drum in quick succession, using each one like a springboard to another, landing in an elegant series of flips onto a large treadmill. He felt something pull up is leg as the treadmill gradually sped up, using his hands to drag himself along. And all the while, he didn't break a sweat, instead finding great delight in how easy the tasks were, feeling the treadmill brush beneath his hands. That was until the large hand pulling him up suddenly dropped him, his face slamming into the treadmill before speeding off, his back colliding with one of the metal drums.

Another horn sounded, this time in defeat.

"...Huh? Hey! The machine did that, I—" his voice was cut off as soon as he saw another figure fade into vision. The figure was slender, looming over him, features impossible to trace through the mist. Their voice was familiar- too familiar.

"Again, Louis." They commanded coldly, leaving an uneasy silence in their wake. The doll stood up, realising they were back on the starting platform, the same robot still holding a clipboard and stopwatch. This time, however, the fog had thickened... either that or his vision was becoming blurred.

3...2...1... Another horn sounded.

Once again, he flew out, landing in a crouching position, his breathing laboured and heavy. The obstacles were easy as the first time but knowing that the figure was watching him made everything harder than it should have been. His legs gave way slightly under the stress, as though they were trying to run away, leaving him tumbling onto the concrete floor. A few seconds later, the figure appeared before him, leaning forward with what seemed to be a cane.

"Do it again." They said simply, as if they expected nothing less. He landed back at the starting platform.

Again, and again and again, he was forced to jump, swing and slide across the obstacle course, the distortion in his watery eyes becoming heavier and his limbs burning with fatigue as time passed. Every single jump became more difficult than the last, the effort growing exhausting with each repetition. The figure however never wavered, watching him fail intently. When a particularly bad jump left him gasping for breath and falling headfirst, the figure almost looked amused by it, standing over him as he coughed.

"Tut . What a shame, you are slipping up so often, Louis." He saw that they were close, but it felt as if their voice was inescapable, echoing throughout the mist. They knelt beside him, eyes finally becoming visible; they were a cold and unforgiving grey that seemed to burn slight orange around the pupil.

"It seems I will have to do something about that myself, hm?"

He tried to protest, but his voice had left him. His body was paralyzed, eyes flooded, limbs shaking violently under their gaze.

They reached over, placing their hand against his shoulder, in a falsely reassuring manner. Their lips were inches away from his own as they spoke in almost a whisper.

"No matter what, you must be perfect. Failure will mean your death." They moved their hand away, taking his shoulder firmly with it, with a soft smile. "But do not worry, Louis. I will make sure that you will improve. You will be perfect." As soon as they spoke, his vision began to blur rapidly into darkness. His screams and sobs became more audible.