Why... just why,... am I stupid?!

The Slide Into Chaos

The spiral staircase seems to go on forever, the darkness swallowing us whole as we descend deeper into the temple. The air grows colder with each step, and I can feel the tension in the group rising. No one speaks, but I can sense the fear in every footfall, every breath.

Then, without warning, the steps beneath my feet shift. There's a sudden lurch, and I lose my balance, flailing as the staircase tilts forward.

Me: What the—?

Before I can finish, the entire staircase transforms beneath us, the stone steps smoothing out and becoming a slick, polished surface. I barely have time to register what's happening before I'm sliding down at breakneck speed, the darkness rushing past me.

Me: Oh, come on! A slide? Really?

The others are screaming as they tumble down the newly-formed slide, all sense of control lost. I try to slow myself down, but the surface is too smooth, too steep. My heart pounds as I'm propelled forward, faster and faster, the air whipping past my face.

The slide twists and turns, throwing us in every direction. I can't see where I'm going, can't hear anything over the sound of wind and the distant screams of the others. The slide is a dizzying, disorienting nightmare, and there's no way to know where it will end.

And then, just when I think it can't get any worse, the slide branches off into multiple paths, splitting the group into different directions. I don't have time to react before I'm hurtling down a new tunnel, separated from the others, completely at the mercy of the labyrinth.

Oh, this is just perfect. 

As if this place wasn't bad enough.

The tunnel narrows, the walls closing in around me, and I feel a surge of panic. I can't stop, can't control where I'm going—whatever force is guiding this slide is in complete control.

Suddenly, the tunnel opens up, and I'm airborne. For a split second, I'm suspended in the air, weightless, before gravity takes hold and I'm falling. I brace myself for impact, and then—

THUD!

I hit the ground hard, the breath knocked out of me as I roll to a stop on a cold, hard floor. My head spins, and for a moment, I just lie there, trying to catch my breath and make sense of what just happened.

I hate this place.

Groaning, I push myself up onto my hands and knees, trying to get my bearings. The room I've landed in is dimly lit, the walls lined with more of those intricate carvings. But there's something different about this room—something that sets my nerves on edge.

It's not empty.

A few feet away, another kid is picking themselves up off the floor. I recognize them from the group—a girl with short, dark hair and a fierce expression. She looks just as disoriented as I feel, but there's a steely determination in her eyes.

Short-Haired Girl: What the hell just happened?

Me: We got separated. The slide split us up and...

I trail off, my gaze drifting to the carvings on the walls. Unlike the previous room, these carvings aren't random scenes from mythology—they're all focused on a single story, one that's all too familiar.

No way... 

They can't be serious.

The story depicted on the walls is the tale of the Trojan War, specifically the final, bloody battle inside the city of Troy. The images show soldiers clashing, heroes falling, and the devastation that followed.

But there's something off about the carvings. The final panel, the one that should show the fall of Troy, is blank. Unfinished. Just like the carvings in the previous room.

Short-Haired Girl: What is this?

She's noticed it too, her eyes narrowing as she studies the carvings. I don't want to say it out loud, don't want to give voice to the terrible realization that's forming in my mind. But I can't ignore it.

Me: It's a reenactment.

She looks at me, confused.

Short-Haired Girl: What?

Me: This room... it's like the last one. We're supposed to complete the story. But this time... it's not just a puzzle.

Her eyes widen as she starts to understand.

Short-Haired Girl: You mean we're supposed to...?

I nod, feeling a cold knot form in my stomach.

Me: We're supposed to act out the story. And if we don't... who knows what happens..... probably us both dying.

She stares at me in disbelief, but the fear in her eyes tells me she knows I'm right. This isn't just a game anymore—this is life or death. And the story we're being forced to reenact is one of betrayal, bloodshed, and loss.

Great. 

Just great. 

As if things couldn't get any worse.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. The room is silent, save for the faint sound of our breathing, but the weight of what we have to do is crushing.

Me: We need to figure out which roles we're supposed to play. If we mess this up...

Short-Haired Girl: You can't be serious!

She's putting on a brave face, but we both know what's at stake.

I walk up to the first carving, the one depicting the entrance of the Trojan Horse into the city. The image is eerily lifelike, the stone soldiers almost seeming to move in the flickering light. I can feel the story pulling at me, urging me to step into my role.

Me: We need to choose. Are you the hero... or the victim?

She hesitates, her gaze flicking between me and the carving. The tension is unbearable, and I can feel the room itself pressing down on us, urging us to make our choice.

Finally, she steps forward, her jaw set in determination.

Short-Haired Girl: I'll be the hero.

I nod, stepping back. There's a part of me that's relieved, but another part that's filled with dread. Because I know what's coming next.

This isn't just a test. 

It's a death sentence.

We take our places, the room seemingly waiting for us to begin. My heart pounds in my chest as I prepare to play my part, the story unfolding in my mind like a script I can't escape.

Is this really a good choice?!