The crow must go through another series of metal tubes, however at the end it must decide on what tube leads to the exit. After entering the first tube, the crow comes to a dead end, exiting it to find the wall he just came from is closing in. In a panic, the crow must decide on what exit leads to the end. The crow panics and panics until something in his sub-conscious tells him to go into the hole marked 16.

The air in the pipe was refreshing, as if the crow was back in the safer parts of the lab. It wasn’t until he was out in the arid desert that he realized how much he appreciated air conditioning. The light reflecting off the tube’s surface wasn’t nearly as harsh as the metal grate.

However, making his way further down the dark, blue cylinder, there was a sense of dread overwhelming the corvid. At this point, he shrugged it off, unable to distinguish why he felt it. Beside that, a more boisterous voice was telling him to keep moving forward, consequences be damned.

Further and further the blue tube stretched on, until a dim light signaled the cutoff point. The room awaiting the bird was yet another metal box, this one looking exactly like the blue box room from when he saw his first body.

Flapping down to the floor, he wondered if this was the exact same room. His memory wasn’t willing to recall any more information, not even confirm or deny his suspicion. There were exits marked with numbers above them, one to twenty-five. Flying up to number twenty, he proceeded down the hall that seemed to turn right.

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Taking a moment to prepare himself, the crow stretched his neck around the corner, and he saw…nothing. It was a dead end with nothing awaiting him. Had the body been moved? Was it even dead to begin with? Was the bird just imagining it?

A loud crunching sound from behind the crow had made him jump, his heart stopping as he turned and left the tube to check out what was happening. At first, there was no obvious change in the room, but when a metal hum began, the corvid saw the entrance he had come from was closed, and the wall was pushing forward.

Flying to the eighteenth hole, the crow’s heart was galloping when he met a dead end. Flying back out, the wall was getting closer. In a panic, the bird chose hole eight, but only found a seed.

As the wall was half way toward the holes, the bird quickly dove into a random hole, only to find it was another dead end. Flying back out, the wall was nearly on top of the corvid.

His head and eyes darting to every number in a millisecond, his hearting beating twice as fast, his mind racing at three times the speed, the bird was praying to the sky above that he could just remember what hole was the right one. As he felt the wall touch his back, the number sixteen flashed in his mind. Dropping into the tube, the bird heard the smashing sound of the moving wall colliding with the stationary one.

The crow sat down in the dark tube, breathing and letting his heart and mind rest. The darkest holding him tightly, he wondered if he was trapped, if his brain had just randomly selected a number.

Standing back up, the black bird realized there was no suppressing his anxiety until he found the answer. Marching onward, he awaited the inevitable sense of defeat once he hit a dead-end.