Click, the tapping of heels on hot concrete. Chit, the chattering of crowds at a red lit crosswalk. Beep, the honking of an expensive car driving just a little too fast, not too too fast but fast enough to warrant a reaction from gawkers.  

Tap, the clicking of shoes of those who saw that the crosswalk was safe to travel without the little green man telling us so. That little green man knows nothing of schedules. Stupid little green man. 

Whistle, the wind between skyscrapers simulating what my ancestors would’ve heard in the mountains, most likely to be prayed to. 

Then. 

Nothing, the nothingness is full of empty. Floating, the feeling of weightlessness. Mindless, the synapses struggling to find a purpose. 

A rooftop. When did I get onto a rooftop? The concrete below me seems freshly made as if it had just been set. A freshly set rooftop. The sky is nothing but black, not like a nighttime black but a ‘I’m closing my eyes in a dark room’ kind of black. But the roof, the freshly set roof that seems to go into the horizon is fully lit. Unnaturally so. 

Oh I’m having a psychotic break. At 27, really? I mean I guess there’s no right age for a psychotic break, but I was hoping to at least make it to 30. 

“Heeelp? Uh, I’m in some sort of psychosis thing! Am I still on the cross walk? Hello?!” 

Maybe I collapsed? The rooftop is completely flat besides some edges with rails and concrete blocks that most likely hold entrances to stairways. If I collapsed I guess there’s no reason not to check out what my melting subconscious mind scrambled up for me. 

I walk over to a spot that has guard rails and look down through the square hole, it must be a perfect 20 by 20-meter hole, windows on the side of the buildings going all the way down, along with balconies that look unlived in, my balconies always had clothes hanging off the sides, this place must have a rough landlord.  

Looks to be an apartment complex. I feel the call of the void looking down for this long but decide to not kill myself just yet, maybe later. 

I continue walking, these square pits are pretty common, sometimes placed together making a 40 by 20-meter hole, the guard rails are simple metal pole fences. It all feels very general and recognisable, must be my brain remembering some rooftop I was on. 

I walk to one of the small stairway entrance rooms, this was the only thing that made the horizon interesting to look at, they are placed at long distances from each other but overpower the scenery with its blockiness. They are brutalist concrete blocks with a silver door attached to it, like a cube. 

There’s a yellow strip on the door with black text saying ‘STAIR.’ Thanks door. I try opening it but alas to my wrists disappointment, it’s locked. Of course it is, I’m Miss boring from boring town, mayor of boring city. I’d obviously conjure a mind door that has no purpose. 

I get bored and sit down against the concrete block, my business formal dress doing very little to make the concrete more appealing as a seat. I’m tired. 

“Helllooooo!” I’m really doing all the cliches today, now I’m a yelling crazy person. I always thought I’d be one of the crazy people who’d laugh not scream. 

From the distance I hear, “helllooooo.” It’s uncomfortably close but has the reverberations of something far, directly going into my ear. An echo? 

“Hey? Is anyone there?!” I stand up, please don’t let this be some weird moment I’ll have to talk to my therapist about. 

“Hey. Is anyone there.” I hear from afar, but it is spoken like it is being whispered into my right ear. Like how headphones simulate distance in audio. 

“Yeah, I’m here! Hey, I’m Alice, and you are?” I look around not seeing anything or anyone. 

“Yeah, I’m here. Hey, I’m Alice, and you are.” The voice doesn’t have the reverberation any longer, its voice is mine pitched up. 

This is all just psychological stuff with my brain, right? I’m trying to scare myself for some reason, it’s very much working. 

“I’m. Here.” The voice speaks into both ears this time. I’m still leaning against the concrete block, I look to my left and there’s nothing, just the endless expanse of roof, then I look right and see fingers gripping the edges of the block. White white white fingers. 

“Hey, Alice. You are. Here.” It sounds like it’s splicing my words together, and although I clearly see the fingers to the right of me, I hear the voice behind me. 

I think it’s time to wake up, I close my eyes, hoping to free myself from whatever this is. Back when I’d have nightmares, I had a strategy to wake up, I’d always move my eyes to the back of my head, like upwards, and it would wake me up so easily. 

“There. There. Alice. Here. You are. Al. Ou. Ne.” 

Okay yeah wake me up, get me out. The voice has taken a sickeningly sweet quality. 

“What the fuck are you doing!?” A smooth voice of a man alongside the harsh grip of my wrist had broken me from my weird daze. I refuse to open my eyes or mouth or ears to take in whatever my brain wants me to see visually. I’m taken aback into a colder climate, aircon? A metal door slams close, footsteps get louder until they stop. 

Someone is breathing in my face, I still don’t look, “are you broken or something? Helloooo?” My face gets poked at, “dying from an echoist sucksss, trust me.” 

I don’t want to open my eyes, I can’t open my eyes. 

“Okay…?” I hear a groan, then his hands forcibly opening my eyelids up, I see a man in comfortable baggy clothes, stubble on his face. “There, that wasn’t so hard was it?” 

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He smells awful, very very bad. Why can’t I just wake up? The guy in front of me looks me up and down, scanning my frame and features. 

“You must’ve died in a pretty terrible way to go non verbal…” he says like I’d understand anything he says at all. “Don’t worry, I’ve died plenty of times to know how that goes, you’ll eventually go back to your original state. The ol mind is pretty sturdy.” 

He has brown hair with streaks of lighter blonde, it looks to be cut with a knife seeing as how there’s no layering and some strands stick out like spikes. His face has a long feeling to it, the only decent facial feature being his eyebrows. 

What am I even doing? Why would I conjure up a man this boring? This has got to be the weirdest dream ever. 

“Wellll. Okay introductions then, I am jack… uh I’m 27 just like you obviously, I'm not exactly sure anymore how long I've been here but it's been around 30 years? I think?” 

He is 27 but has been here for 30 years. Okay I'm having a fucking stroke. I finally regain my voice, that moment before had actually been the scariest situation in my entire life. Dream or not. “Where... am I?” 

“Ohohoho! You're new? Like you just arrived?” He gives off a childish smile. 

“…Yes?” 

“Well, I cant say I've met someone this recent! uh, okay.” He bows, “you must be confused miss new person, you'll enjoy your new home, you'll love the benefits, fluorescent lights, inedible food, strange creatures. It’s all very macabre with its presentation, you’ll experience hardships, pain, love! After all you’re here forever. Welcome to hell.” 

I stay in silence for a second, oh this guy is just crazy, okay. 

He claps his hands together, “was that good? I wanted to keep the introduction really memorable, I dunno I just thought that if someone gave me an introduction like that when I first got here id be pumped.” He begins to go down the stairs, there's a white light above us which actually gives shadows unlike on the rooftop, I think this is the stairwell. 

“What…?” is all I can get out. 

“Follow me, I live on the 297th, we’ve mapped it out, we will be fine.” He walks down the stairs with a jump in his step, “come on.” 

I gain control of my body again, I feel sick, I slump down and walk the steps carefully, it was two flights of stairs, stopping randomly at an uncomfortable position with a wall and a door saying ‘297.’ 

He opens it up and walks through, holding the door open for me, courtesy isn’t dead here I see. I walk through and see green walls, painted green walls. Did a drunk architect design this place? The doors are painted red, the carpet an off white colour, tinted from the florescent lights above, the roof is green too, the lights being slightly blue. This place looks like if a fever dream and crack cocaine had a baby and that baby was very into interior design. 

He closes the door behind me, it reads ‘EXIT FIRE.’  Which I guess works just as well as the alternative. 

“Sooo, how’s the world going? Last thing I heard was that a plane had taken down New York. Unless Leo is lying. Crazy stuff. How’d all that turn out?” 

Right, okay, so if this person really was taken here 30 years ago that would mean he is from 1994. This whole thing is just messed up. 

Slightly in front of me, him and I walk through a hallway, each door is marked with a gold plate near the top saying a random string of numbers and letters then ‘ROOM.’ which helps me know that there is indeed a room these doors lead to. There’s a distinct scratch below every door nameplate. 

“You gonna answer? Or do you have a whole mute chick thing going on?” 

“I uh... yeah after the attacks I think they waged war with the middle east, was a big thing. I don't know I don't keep track of politics.” My voice is surprisingly strong after that encounter with the ‘echoist.’ But I’m still kind of just stuck in a mode of dissociating. 

“Oh, that's boring, no World War 3? Leo arrived right after the attacks, like a day after so I didn't get much info from him.” 

Okay this is the second time Leo has been mentioned, he clearly wants me to ask, “who is Leo?” 

“You'll see.” He looks back and smiles, taking a left in the hallway, everything looks the exact same, it’s making me feel disoriented.  

“Who designed this place?” I step perfectly in the middle, avoiding the doors encase something comes out of it. 

“I dunno, the more you learn about this place the more questions you have, Leo will run you down the basics though.” 

We take a right turn, the carpet is now on the floor, “so… that ‘echoist.’ What is it?” 

“Oh, that is one of the monsters, there’s different kinds but that one is probably the most dangerous out of the floors 290 to 299.” 

What. 

“What?” 

“Like monsters, ghouls, demons, accountants.” He snickers to himself, “no need to worry, if you die you just respawn back on the roof, although you’d probably never see me again.” He takes a left turn, “I never got your name.” 

“Oh… it’s Alice.” 

“Oh… well this is a pretty shitty wonderland.” 

I’ve heard that joke a million times. 

“Funny. So when we die we don’t die?” 

“Yep! You just go back to the roof in a random spot, probably billions of miles away from where you died.” 

“Right…”  

We keep walking, my heels are beginning to hurt and the air in these hallways is so stagnant I get allergies. 

“We are here, my humble abode.” 

We stop at a room that had the golden plate removed, along with some of the red paint scraped off. 

He knocks like a mad man, “ARGHHH IM DYING HELP HELP.” 

Someone opens the door in a frenzy, pulling him in, “what the fuck dude, stop doing that.” He looks over at me, this man is tall and slender, long black hair, brown eyes, bandages all over his hands and neck while holding a makeshift spear. He is dressed in a nice suit, well ‘nice’ would be be a bad word to use. An expensive suit that looked worn and torn. 

“Who’s the girl? Jack I told you we don’t human traffic people, dickhead.” 

“Hey no fair.” Jack walks in further disappearing into a room. 

“Hello?  You awake? Are you coming in?” He opens the door further, “so you’ll fit.” He smiles, “that joke doesn’t really work, you are actually pretty slim, but still.” 

Trying to avoid eye contact, I walk into what seems to be a living room, it doesn’t look like an apartment but a wooden cabin. 

“Jack did you bring back any food?” 

“I thought we’d just cook the girl.” Jack looks through cabinets with a bored expression on his face. 

I step back a second looking at the exit, I really hope he is joking. Leo seems to notice, “why are you scared?” 

Jack gets up, eating what seems to be an unrecognisable brand of chips, “oh right, she hasn’t died before, she’s a new one.” He speaks with a mouth full of chips. 

“Ohhh, that makes a lot of sense.” He steps back and bows, “I am Leo, welcome to my pretty little palace. This apartment is super rare, you get anomalous rooms sometimes. So don’t tell anyone okay?” 

I just shimmy around him into the kitchen, I grab a knife. I just really think I’d be safer with a knife. 

“Scary… chips?” Jack hands me a bag, with my spare hand I hold it, not quite sure how to eat with a knife in my other hand. 

“Ah you’ve ran into the ol knife in your hand while trying to eat chips conundrum.” He smiles while walking back onto the couch. 

Leo just watches from the hallway where the exit is, “how’s the modern world, any nukes get used yet?” 

“Nah.” 

“Boring, I’m going into the living room so don’t stab me, you have fun with your knife… and chips.” Leo follows Jack onto the couch and cuddles close, somehow rather than being scared out of my mind about my circumstances I’m more worried about being a third wheel. 

I place the knife on the kitchen counter and eat the chips, it tastes super foreign, like a flavour that doesn’t exist. I read the text on the yellow chip bag, it has bold red letters saying, ‘ULTRA CHIP, king flavour.’ Which is awesome. 

“Hey, its creepy having you in the background, come, sit. You must have questions, right?” Leo has his head turned to me over the couch, while jack’s head seems to be laying on his lap. 

“Uh... yeah, okay.”