Detox Your Mind
Control
The world shifts beneath your feet, a labyrinth of shadows and whispers where every choice carves a new path. You feel it—the weight of the unseen, the pull of stories yet untold. Your grip tightens on the mouse, its click a heartbeat in the silence. Light bleeds across the screen, pixel by pixel, revealing jagged ruins clawing at a sky choked with static. A name flickers in the corner, half-erased: *Mouse*. Yours? Theirs? The cursor hovers, a shard of glass poised to cut through the veil. Voices hum in the wires, fragments of a language forgotten. Click. A door groans open, its hinges screaming in ones and zeros. Click. A figure steps through, their edges glitching, eyes two voids swallowing the light. They speak without sound. *You shouldn’t be here.* The mouse trembles. Click. Run. Click. Fight. Click. *Listen.* The screen fractures. Code spills like blood, pooling at your feet. Somewhere, a server laughs.
c
The corridors twist in ways your spine can’t follow. Walls breathe—in, out—their surfaces slick with a substance that isn’t liquid, isn’t solid, but hums like static between your fingers. You step forward; gravity tilts. Down becomes a suggestion. A door appears where your shadow once fell, its hinges creaking in a language of rust and whispers. Touch it, and it dissolves into moths, each wingtip scribbling symbols that itch behind your eyes. You chase them, not with your legs but with the memory of running. Time here isn’t a line—it’s a knot, frayed and snarled. Puzzles don’t wait to be solved; they squirm into your pockets, rearrange themselves when you blink. Keys are teeth. Locks are hungry. Every solution tastes like copper and leaves scars that glow in the dark. Trust nothing, especially the floor. Especially your own breath. Progress isn’t measured in steps but in fractures—cracks in logic, splinters in reality. The exit? A myth that laughs in echoes. You’ll leave when the level decides to spit you out. Or forgets you’re there.
