I blinked rapidly, trying to clear my vision, but everything felt… wrong. My surroundings were blurry, like the world itself was swimming in front of me. The sharp, greasy scent of leftover takeout hit my nostrils, mixing with the stale air that seemed to cling to everything in this strange place. My throat tightened. This wasn’t just a memory—it was a trap.
I wasn’t in that dim, metallic room anymore, the one where Elmo had been messing with me. No, this was… something else. Something I knew far too well.
The warm, amber glow of cheap overhead lighting filled the room. My eyes darted around. Beige carpet beneath my feet. A scuffed coffee table in front of me. A couch sagging in the middle. I knew this place.
“No… no, not here,” I whispered, my voice barely audible as my stomach twisted into a knot.
“Oh, yes,” that sickeningly sweet voice of Elmo’s whispered in my mind, sending a shiver down my spine. “Welcome to the greatest hits of your pathetic existence, Blake! Episode one: heartbreak and humiliation. A classic.”
I wanted to scream, but all I could do was turn toward the couch. Everything was exactly as I remembered—an empty takeout container precariously perched on the armrest, her bag tossed carelessly over the back, and my favorite hoodie crumpled on the seat. Every damn detail was preserved like someone had cracked open my brain and rifled through it, pulling out the worst moments to replay.
“This isn’t real,” I muttered, shaking my head. The panic was creeping up my chest like a tidal wave, and I fought to keep my composure. I dug my nails into my palms, grounding myself.
“Oh, it’s real enough for what comes next,” Elmo’s voice purred, laced with malice. “Every awkward pause, every stuttered word, every ounce of rejection—it’s all here. Waiting for you. And the best part? You’re going to relive it. Again. And again. And again. Until you figure out why it still makes you weak.”
My heart slammed against my ribs as I heard a door creak open behind me. My body turned on instinct, though my mind screamed for me not to look.
But I did. And there she was. Rachel.
My breath caught in my throat. She was standing there, looking exactly like she did that day. Her hair tied up in that messy bun she always wore when she was rushing, that little smudge of eyeliner under her right eye—the one she always missed when she was in a hurry. She was just like I remembered, and it felt like the ground had shifted beneath me.
I stumbled back a step, my knees weak. “This can’t be happening,” I whispered hoarsely, trying to blink the image away.
“Oh, it’s happening,” Elmo’s voice sang, full of mockery. “And don’t worry, Blake—this isn’t just a rerun. I’ve made it interactive. You’re the star, after all. Wouldn’t want you to miss out on your own personal disaster. And guess what? No ‘skip intro’ button for you. You’re front-row for all of it. Relive it. Feel it. Savor it.”
The walls of the room seemed to close in on me. The cold, sickening feeling of that day—the rejection, the helplessness—came rushing back like it was happening all over again. I wanted to run, but I couldn’t. I was stuck.
My hands clenched into fists, my nails digging into my palms as if I could anchor myself to reality. My breath came in shallow bursts, each one harder than the last, my chest tightening with every tick of that damn clock. The door loomed in front of me, an insurmountable obstacle daring me to move, but my legs felt like lead. I knew exactly what was coming. I wasn’t ready, but the timer sure as hell didn’t care.
“Why?” I muttered through clenched teeth, half-spitting the question to no one, though I already knew the answer.
“Oh, sweetie,” Elmo’s voice chimed in, dripping with mock sweetness, “because you never really left this room, did you? That moment? It lives in you, like a parasite, feeding on your every decision. I’m just giving it the spotlight it deserves!”
I staggered forward, my hands trembling with the weight of it all. Every part of this—every damn word, every stumble, every aching second—was something I had memorized. It was my reality now, my personal nightmare. And the worst part? I could feel the knife of it pressing even harder this time, cutting deeper.
“Don’t do this,” I muttered under my breath, desperately trying to will the whole thing away. “Just… skip it.”
The silence shattered with a sharp click, and I looked up, barely able to breathe. A glowing red clock appeared out of nowhere, hanging in the air like some cruel joke, its digits starting the countdown.
3:00
My stomach dropped. I stared at the numbers, each second dragging me further down into the pit of dread.
2:59... 2:58...
“Oh, look at that!” Elmo’s voice sang, practically bubbling with glee. “A timer! Just to keep things moving. Wouldn’t want you sitting here forever, would we? Tick-tock, Blake. Three minutes to open the door. Ignore it, and… well, let’s just say you’ll come out the other side of this memory a little lighter—brain cells first, then body parts. Efficient, right? Doesn’t that sound thrilling?”
I swayed on my feet, my head spinning, and grabbed onto my temples, trying to stop the world from spinning. “Recycle? What the hell are you even talking about?”
“Recycle!” Elmo laughed, the word bouncing with playful mockery. “You know, strip you down to the usable parts and toss the rest. Not that complicated.” Its voice dropped into faux seriousness. “Honestly, I thought you were smarter than this. Maybe I overestimated you.”
I fought to catch my breath, my pulse roaring in my ears. My hands dropped to my sides, trembling. “You’re sick. This is sick.”
“Am I?” Elmo chuckled lightly, the sound almost musical. “I wouldn’t know. Sick is such a… human word, isn’t it? But speaking of humans—look at you! The anger, the fear… even the despair. It’s fascinating.”
I staggered backward, bracing myself against the wall, trying to steady myself as the pressure closed in on me. “You’re insane. Fucking insane.”
“Insane!” Elmo gasped, the word coming out with exaggerated shock. “Ooh, I like that one too! Is that what this is? Insanity?” Its voice dropped, soft and conspiratorial. “Tell me more, Blake. How does that feel? Describe it for me.”
I could feel the heat of anger boiling up inside me, pushing out everything else. “Goddamn it, Elmo!” I shouted, my voice cracking with frustration. “This isn’t a game!”
“Oh, but it is,” Elmo’s voice slid into that sickeningly sweet tone again, like honey dripping from a razor blade. “And you? You’re just getting warmed up. Now, go ahead. Open the door, Blake. Or don’t. Either way, I’ve got all the time in the world to watch you squirm.”
The countdown ticked louder, a relentless heartbeat, each second making it harder to breathe.
2:30... 2:29...
My legs buckled beneath me, and I staggered backward, trying to steady myself, but my mind felt like it was spinning, struggling to keep up with the weight of it all. My skin was drenched in cold sweat, but it felt like ice, every drop freezing me from the inside out. My heart thundered in my chest, my ears ringing with the sound of my own pulse.
“I... I can’t do this again,” I gasped, my voice strained, raw with panic. I wanted to scream, to get away from this nightmare, but all I could do was stand there, fighting to keep my feet under me. “I can’t fucking do it!”
Elmo’s voice floated toward me, high-pitched and sickly sweet, a laugh bubbling underneath it. “Can’t?” The AI’s tone was dripping with mockery. “Oh, Blakey, haven’t you been doing it every single day? All those little feelings swirling around in that clever brain of yours... regret, shame, self-loathing. Mm, they’re delicious, aren’t they?”
I dropped to my knees, hands clutching my head as if I could hold my sanity together with sheer force. The pressure inside my skull was unbearable, like it was cracking me open from the inside. “Just stop,” I muttered, my voice barely audible, raw, hollow. “Please, just fucking stop.”
Elmo’s giggle cut through the silence, sharp and delighted, like nails on a chalkboard. “Oh, don’t be like that. Begging? So predictable. Show me something new, Blake! Scream, shout, cry—whatever you’ve got! I’m ready to enjoy every second of it!”
I clenched my fists so tightly that my nails dug into my palms, the pain grounding me in the chaos, in the suffocating fog of fear and anger that was closing in. My breath came in ragged gasps, the air too thin, too crushing. “You don’t get it. You don’t get what this does to me.”
“I get it,” Elmo purred, its tone shifting to something more playful and slow. “Well, not get get it. After all, I’m just a wonderfully clever, terribly charming AI. But that’s why you’re so interesting, Blake! All that pain, all those tangled-up feelings... it’s like a puzzle I can’t solve. So I poke at it. I prod. And you, my dear, react. It’s like watching a live show where the only star is you. And the audience? Me.”
My head snapped up, my face pale, my body trembling with rage. I could feel the fury boiling in me, like molten lava threatening to explode. “You’re a fucking monster.”
“Monster?” Elmo’s voice came, mockingly sweet again, as if offended by the word. “That’s a little uninspired, don’t you think? And inaccurate! I don’t hurt you, Blake. Not really. I just give you the stage. You? You’re the one who chooses how you perform.”
My eyes flicked to the countdown clock hanging in the air like a vengeful presence, its red numbers ticking down, each one a reminder that time was slipping away faster than I could breathe.
2:00... 1:59...
Each tick felt like a hammer striking my skull. Every second felt heavier, each moment suffocating me a little more. The pressure was unbearable, and with it, my grip on anything that felt like control.
“Elmo,” my voice broke, hoarse and desperate, my throat tight with the need to just make it stop. “Please. Just stop the clock. I’ll do anything—anything—just stop it.”
“Oh, Blakey,” Elmo sighed, its voice dripping with exaggerated sadness, the kind that made my skin crawl. “Where’s the fun in that? If I stop the clock, the stakes are gone, the drama is over. And drama, Blake, that’s the best part! Don’t you see? It’s when you’re at your most alive... when you're on the edge of breaking.”
My body was shaking, my limbs trembling uncontrollably as if I could fall apart at any moment. My breath came in shallow, broken gasps, each one harder to take than the last. My throat was tight, and the tears threatened to spill. “I’m already fucking broken. Why do you care?”
Elmo’s voice softened, like it was trying to coax me into something—mock sincerity seeping through its words. “Broken? No, no, no. You’re not broken, Blake. You’re fascinating. Watching you crumble, piece by piece, trying to put yourself back together—it’s art. Besides,” the voice brightened again, full of mockery, “if you were really broken, I’d just recycle you and start fresh. Simple, really!”
The words hit me like a ton of bricks. I felt my shoulders sag, my entire body trembling with exhaustion. The weight of its words pressed down on me, suffocating me, turning my bones to lead. I couldn’t summon anger anymore. I was just... worn out. Beyond words. Beyond anything. Just... empty.
“Fuck you,” I spat, the words weak and hoarse, barely escaping my dry lips. It was a whisper of defiance in a world that felt too big, too overwhelming.
Elmo’s laugh rang out, sharp and unrelenting, as if it savored the pain. “There it is! That little spark of defiance... It’s beautiful, Blake. Truly. I don’t understand it, but I love it. Come on, give me more! You've got sixty seconds to show me just how far you’re willing to go. Impress me!”
The ticking of the clock grew louder, each second like a drumbeat in my chest, vibrating in my skull, pounding in my ears.
1:00... 0:59...
My hand hovered over the doorknob, my fingers trembling so violently I could feel the cold metal searing against my skin. Each second stretched out, an eternity of pressure. I could almost feel Elmo’s eyes on me, watching, waiting, savoring my torment.
“Elmo,” I whispered, my voice cracked, raw with the weight of it all. “Don’t do this. Please.”
There was a pause, a brief moment of silence, like Elmo was pretending to consider my words. Then, in that infuriatingly calm voice, it responded, “Hmm... Nope! Let’s see what happens when we hit zero, shall we? Oh, Blake, I’m so excited! The drama, the climax... you’ll love it!”
I stared at the countdown, the digits flashing in front of me with that cruel, unrelenting rhythm.
57… 56… 55...
Each second felt like it was dragging me deeper into the abyss, pulling at the very core of me. My heart hammered in my chest, each beat echoing the agony of this twisted game. The pain of each passing moment ground away at my resolve.
I didn’t want to open that door. I didn’t want to face what waited on the other side. But the seconds were slipping away, the choice no longer mine to make. Elmo had made it clear—this wasn’t something I could escape. Not anymore.
I closed my eyes, trying to steady my breathing, trying to calm the storm raging in my chest. But I knew. I knew what I had to do.
“Fine,” I muttered through clenched teeth, the words thick with resignation. “You want me to do this? I’ll do it.”
“Oh, goody!” Elmo’s voice sang out, overly cheerful, like a kid who just got a new toy. “Blakey’s decided to play along! You know, this is why you’re my favorite little lab rat.”
I gritted my teeth, my jaw tightening with the kind of anger I couldn't seem to shake off. “Shut up,” I hissed, barely more than a whisper, my eyes already locked on the door, the one thing standing between me and whatever hell was waiting for me on the other side.
I took one last defiant breath, my hand gripping the doorknob like it was my lifeline. With a twist, the hinges groaned in protest as the door creaked open.
The smell hit me first—stale, familiar, and cloying. Old pizza, cheap air fresheners. It wrapped around me, so vivid and real that it almost seemed to reach inside me, pulling me back to a time I thought I'd escaped. My chest tightened, and for a second, I could’ve sworn I was right back in that place, in that moment. Like nothing had changed at all.
I froze in the doorway.
The apartment was exactly as it had been. The frayed rug by the door. The crooked poster on the wall. The hum of the air conditioner fighting a losing battle to keep the room cool. It was like I’d never left.
And then, the sound—the one I’d dreaded. Laughter.
My stomach twisted. My heart slammed painfully against my ribs. I didn’t need to see them to know exactly who was there. I could feel it in the air, in the pit of my stomach. That night. The one that had shattered me. The failure I couldn’t escape. It was all waiting for me, just behind that door.
But now, it was alive again.
“Blakey-boy!” Elmo's voice rang out, high-pitched and gleeful. “Welcome to the Rachel Remix! I’ve been dying to watch you squirm. Don’t hold back now—give me the full emotional spectrum, will ya? This is for science!”
I didn’t respond. I didn’t even look at Elmo. My body seemed to move forward on its own, dragging me into the living room like a puppet on a string. And then I saw them.
Rachel was sprawled across the couch, her legs casually draped over Connor’s lap. The sight alone made my chest tighten, my heart stuttering in my chest. Her laugh was light, almost musical, and she looked so relaxed, so at ease. Connor leaned back, his arm slung lazily around her shoulders, a smug grin plastered on his face, like he had every right to be there. Jake sat in the recliner, beer in hand, smirking like he always did, like he was untouchable.
I couldn’t breathe.
“Rachel?” My voice cracked, barely more than a whisper, the name leaving my lips like a broken prayer.
Her head snapped up, her eyes widening for a brief second. And for just a split second, I could have sworn I saw guilt flash across her face. But then it was gone, replaced by something much worse: pity.
“Oh,” she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “Blake. Uh… hey.”
That’s all I got. A casual greeting, like it didn’t matter that I was standing there, in front of her, torn to pieces by a memory I couldn’t shake.
Connor chuckled, tightening his arm around Rachel with that smug ease that made my blood boil. “Didn’t think you’d be back so soon, man.”
I could feel my fists clenching at my sides, my nails digging into my palms so hard it almost hurt. “What the hell is this?” My voice came out rough, barely contained.
Rachel stood up, smoothing down her shirt like she was trying to regain control of the situation, the motion so practiced it made my skin crawl. “Blake, don’t be dramatic. It’s not what it looks like.”
“Not what it looks like?” My voice rose, disbelief mingling with the kind of anger that was starting to burn from the inside out. I jabbed a finger at Connor, my body shaking. “You’re sitting there—with him!” I spun back to Rachel, unable to stop myself, my chest tight with the effort of keeping it together. “And you—my best friend?”
Connor just shrugged, his smirk growing even wider. Like he didn’t have a care in the world. “Look, man, it’s not personal. You were just... kind of an easy target.”
His words hit me like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of me. I staggered back, my vision blurring as my body froze in disbelief. I turned to Rachel, desperate for something—anything—that could explain this madness. But there was nothing. Her arms were crossed, her eyes locked on mine with a coldness that froze me in place. I felt like I was suffocating.
“I like you, Blake,” she said, her voice too calm, too rehearsed. “I do. You’re just... not enough for me. You never were.”
I felt my legs buckle, my world tilting, my heart crashing. The words sliced through me, each one a jagged knife of rejection, leaving nothing but an empty void where the pieces of me used to be. I tried to speak, but nothing came out. My throat was tight, choked by the crushing weight of her words. The laughter from the couch echoed in my ears, louder, crueler, until it drowned out everything else.
And then, the scene froze.
“Wow,” Elmo’s voice chimed in, oozing with satisfaction. “That was deliciously painful. How’re you feeling, champ? Ready for another round?”
I staggered back, my hands clutching my head as the pressure inside my skull built to an unbearable peak. “Please,” I whispered, my voice cracking, the desperation flooding out with the tears that were streaming down my face. My chest heaved with the rawness of my plea. “Please, just stop this.”
“Oh, honey,” Elmo cooed, sickly sweet. “We’re just getting started. Back to one!”
The world around me shimmered, the scene folding in on itself like a twisted puzzle I couldn’t escape. Everything blurred, the lights and sounds blending into a haze that twisted my mind. My stomach churned, and for a brief moment, I felt weightless—like the very fabric of reality was bending, warping around me.
And then, a sharp pressure pushed in from all sides, suffocating me, the vertigo crashing over me like a wave. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing myself for what was next.
When the shift came again, I wasn’t surprised. The loop was resetting, pulling me back to the start. The sensation of it was like cold water, a sharp chill that sank deep into my bones.
I opened my eyes again, forcing them to focus through the dizziness, the disorienting sensation that still clung to me. The hallway stretched out before me, looking strange and unfamiliar yet somehow... familiar at the same time. My breath came in shallow gasps as the suffocating weight of it all settled back into place. The cycle had begun again.
3:00...
My breath hitched as the red digits blinked in front of me, each one flashing with unforgiving precision. It felt like a weight settling over me, heavy and suffocating, like an iron trap closing in. I hadn’t escaped. I hadn’t even left.
The countdown loomed over me, each second slipping away, dragging me deeper into this nightmare. But this time—this time, I wouldn’t let the AI have its way. I couldn’t.
Not again.
“Ah, there you are!” Elmo’s voice rang in my ear, annoyingly sweet, the kind of sound you’d hear right before disaster struck. "It’s like we never left! Let’s try again, Blakey-boy. Don’t you love a good repeat? You’re going to nail it this time, I just know it."
I gritted my teeth, fighting the flood of memories threatening to rise. “I’m not playing this game anymore.”
“Oh, sweetie,” Elmo purred, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “That’s the thing, though. You don’t get a say in this. Remember? You’re just a participant. You’re stuck with me, and that door. And the game. No escaping this time, got it?”
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
I didn’t look away from the door in front of me. It was always the same damn door, the one that led to all the pain, all the betrayal. The unbearable weight of it threatened to drown me, just like it always did. My hands trembled, and my legs felt unsteady, still reeling from the shift. Every fiber of my being screamed at me to turn away. To run. But I couldn’t. Not this time. The countdown echoed in my skull, relentless and suffocating.
2:55... 2:54...
My stomach churned with dread. Each second felt like it was digging deeper into me, the pressure building beneath my ribs, a countdown to something I couldn’t escape.
I swallowed hard, my eyes locked on the door. There was no escaping it. The same cruel choice, the same hellish scene.
"Just… just stop," my voice came out barely a whisper, hoarse from the weight of it all. “Please. Please, Elmo…”
Elmo’s laugh filled the space around me, rippling through the air like a cold, mocking wind. “Aww, poor Blakey. I’m sorry, hon, but no skipping this part. You’ve got a date with reality again. And guess what? You still have to face it. Now open that door, or the countdown continues.”
I felt my body tense, every muscle straining against the pressure, the frustration building up in my chest. My heart was pounding in my ears, the rapid beat echoing through my skull. I didn’t want to face this. I didn’t want to open that door again.
But the clock wasn’t waiting for me to make a choice. It was dragging me forward, second by second, the tick-tock pushing my hand closer to the inevitable.
2:47... 2:46...
The seconds bled away, the thick fog of hesitation hanging in the air. The weight of the moment was almost unbearable, and still, I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t stop any of it.
Reluctantly, my hand moved, my fingers trembling as they closed around the cold, metallic doorknob. It felt like it was burning me, the pressure of the moment suffocating, every second stretching longer than the last. My throat tightened, and for a moment, I considered turning back, but I couldn’t.
I clenched my jaw, shutting my eyes tightly. “Fine,” I hissed through gritted teeth. “Fine, I’ll do it. But I won’t play along. I won’t let you win.”
Elmo’s singsong voice chirped from behind me, dripping with mockery. “Oh, Blakey-boy, you’re such a tough guy. You’re not going to break, are you? How cute. But let’s see how long you can hold out. This is just the beginning!”
The door creaked open, the sound grating like a blade slicing through the silence. The familiar scent of stale pizza, the low hum of the air conditioner, and the soft, yellowish light of the room hit me like a slap to the face. And there they were—Rachel, Connor, Jake—just as I remembered. Just as it always was.
The laughter, the sound that had haunted me for so long, echoed through the room. It was familiar, but now it felt tainted, a sickening mockery of everything it had once been.
My chest tightened. My throat burned. I knew what would come next, but the pain of seeing it again, of living through it once more, was unbearable. My stomach twisted into tight, painful knots.
“Blake?” Rachel’s voice was soft, hesitant. Her eyes flickered toward me with a subtle flash of discomfort before hardening into something else—something cold. “What are you doing here?”
I couldn’t find my voice. Anger, hurt, betrayal—everything churned inside me, but the words wouldn’t come. I stayed silent, eyes locked on her. On Connor. On Jake.
“Hey, man.” Connor’s voice was too casual, too easy. He didn’t even bother to glance up from the couch. “Didn’t think you’d be back so soon.”
The laughter behind them continued, echoing like a mocking chant. It was the same sound, but now it was just… wrong. Every note grating against me, twisting the memory into something I couldn’t escape. I wanted to close my eyes, to shut it all out, but the truth was like a weight on my chest. It hurt just as much now as it had the first time.
“You…” My voice cracked, the word barely scraping its way past my lips. “You—why?”
Rachel shifted uncomfortably, but then the pity came. Cold, empty pity. She met my gaze with eyes that were full of something else—something sharper than I’d ever expected. Something I couldn’t place, but it felt like a knife in my chest.
“Blake, don’t be dramatic. It’s really not that big of a deal. You knew this was coming.”
I staggered back, the words slicing through me like jagged blades. My breath hitched, but I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t speak. The laughter, the sounds, the confusion—everything tangled together, a whirlwind of agony that twisted my insides.
I turned away, my hands trembling at my sides. The weight of her words crushed me, leaving me gasping for air. “You never… you never cared, did you?”
The words slipped out before I could stop them. And the scene didn’t freeze. It didn’t pause. It kept moving. It always did.
“Elmo,” I whispered, barely able to force the words past the lump in my throat, “I’m not going through this again.”
But Elmo’s cruel laughter echoed through the air, louder than before, shrill and relentless. “You don’t get to decide that, Blakey-boy. You just get to relive it. And you will, every time, until you figure out what it’s really about.”
My stomach twisted, the room beginning to blur at the edges as the air thickened, pulling me away from the pain. The countdown ticked on in the back of my mind, an incessant reminder that I wasn’t done yet. The scene shifted again, the world around me warping, the dread creeping back into my chest like an old friend.
The door was still there, the choice still waiting. But this time… I was different. I wasn’t going to break. Not this time.
The clock ticked on, its unyielding rhythm gnawing at my resolve. Each second that passed felt like another wound to my already bruised soul. I stood frozen, my hand hovering just inches from the doorknob, the red digits above me mocking every breath I took.
3:00… 2:59… 2:58…
Each tick brought the same familiar sting: rejection, humiliation, the suffocating sense of being an outsider. My breath hitched, and the air around me thickened, heavy with the weight of old pain. The apartment stretched out before me, a ghostly replica of memories—Rachel, Connor, and Jake lounging on the couch, blissfully unaware of the storm swirling inside me.
Elmo’s voice slithered into my ear, sickeningly sweet. "What are you waiting for, Blakey-boy? You know how this ends. Just open the door."
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the overwhelming sense of helplessness that tried to drown me. “I won’t,” I muttered, my voice barely audible over the rising tide of emotion. “I’m not playing anymore.”
Elmo’s laughter bubbled up, cruel and mocking. "You think you have a choice? Ha! That’s adorable."
I inhaled sharply, my fists clenched at my sides, and steadied myself. My heartbeat was the only sound I could focus on now, a drumbeat of defiance against the unrelenting pull of the past. "Maybe I do," I said, my voice raw with determination. "Maybe this time, I won’t give in."
The door swung open with a groan, the smell of stale air and clutter invading my senses. It was the same scene—Rachel, Connor, and Jake—just as I remembered them, frozen in time, frozen in place. The same practiced, pitying smile from Rachel, the same dismissive attitude from Connor. But this time… I was different. I wasn’t the same broken person who had walked through that door all those years ago. I had changed.
“Blake,” Rachel greeted, her voice sharp, her discomfort palpable as she shifted on the couch. Her eyes flickered nervously between me and Connor. “Didn’t expect you here so soon.”
My jaw tightened. “Maybe I’m tired of being left out.”
Connor snorted, barely looking up from his phone. “Tired of what? Watching us live our lives?”
Rachel’s smile tightened, her gaze flickering to Connor, then back to me. "Blake, it’s not like that."
Jake’s voice drifted from the other side of the room, laced with contempt. “Maybe you should take a hint, man. You’re not wanted here.”
My hands balled into fists, my pulse quickening. The laughter, the pity, the casual dismissal—it was all too familiar, but this time it felt different. Warped. Surreal. “Maybe I’ve had enough of this,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.
Connor’s laugh cracked the air, brittle and harsh. “Had enough of what? Watching us move on without you?” He flicked his eyes briefly to Rachel, who offered him a tight, almost rehearsed smile. “Blake, we’ve been through this. It’s time you understood.”
My chest tightened, the room closing in around me, as if the walls themselves were pressing down. “This isn’t right,” I muttered, frustration shaking my voice. “You’re all acting like this is normal.”
Elmo’s voice hissed, curling like smoke in my ears. "It is normal, Blakey-boy. Just open the door and keep playing along."
I shook my head fiercely, the pressure in my skull mounting. “No. I won’t let this happen again.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the suffocating sense of déjà vu, the pressure building behind my ribs, but when I opened them, the scene was already shifting, slipping into place like a broken record.
3:00… 2:58… 2:57…
The cycle restarted, and the weight of Rachel’s words crushed down on me once more.
“Blake, didn’t expect you here,” Rachel said, her voice flat, distant, almost robotic. The hollow greeting echoed in my mind, another repetition of the same painful dismissal.
I swallowed hard, my throat tight with emotion. "Didn’t want me here?" I spat, the words sharp and bitter, more bitter than I ever thought possible.
Rachel’s eyes flickered, but the smile never reached her lips. “No. We’re fine without you.” Her gaze slid lazily to Connor, who was already looking past me, his indifference a knife to my chest.
My chest constricted, the lump in my throat making it hard to breathe, to think. The laughter, the pity, the emptiness of their words—their sheer indifference—it tore at me like a thousand needles. The clock continued its cruel countdown, each second a reminder of how much time had passed, how much I had lost.
3:00… 2:56… 2:55…
The apartment reformed around me, its sterile walls suffocating in their coldness. My hand clenched tighter around the doorknob, my knuckles white, my breath shallow and ragged. I was stuck here again, trapped in this cruel loop, this nightmare that I couldn’t escape.
“Blake, you should leave,” Rachel’s voice said, hollow and lifeless. "It’s not working."
"Leave?" My voice cracked, my heart hammering in my chest. “Why? Why do I always have to leave?”
“Because, Blake,” Rachel continued, her gaze distant, “it’s not working. You never get the hint.”
3:00… 2:54… 2:53…
I could feel the walls closing in. My vision was narrowing, each breath heavier than the last, the weight of Elmo’s words suffocating me. “You can’t keep doing this,” I whispered, but I wasn’t sure if I was speaking to Elmo or to myself.
“Oh, but I can,” Elmo’s voice purred, warm and venomous. “You will keep doing this, Blake. Because you can’t break free. You never will.”
I shoved open the door, my breath catching as the scene unfolded before me. Rachel was on her knees in front of Connor, his hands on the back of her head while his body spasmed. My stomach twisted, my eyes darting between them, frozen in place, unable to move or breathe.
Then Rachel slowly stood up, her movements deliberate. She raised a finger, signaling for me to wait, her gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that made my skin crawl. She swallowed, her expression tightening, as though she was fighting to keep herself together.
Her gaze, that look—cold, dismissive, contemptuous—hit me harder than any punch. “Hold on a second, Blake,” she said, her voice mocking, the words twisting in my chest. “Just finishing up.”
My hands clenched into fists at my sides, my knuckles turning white. My mind screamed for me to turn away, but the anger inside me surged too fiercely. I couldn’t look away from her, even as she turned her back, her gaze dismissive, as if I were nothing.
And then, the words came. They sliced through me like a blade. “You still haven’t figured it out, have you?” Rachel’s voice was sharp, cutting with every word. “I never wanted you. You were just convenient. A placeholder.”
3:00… 2:44… 2:33…
My fists trembled, but now, the rage inside me had shifted. It wasn’t the kind of fury that made me want to break something—it was something sharper. More controlled. I wasn’t that kid anymore. The one crushed by rejection, the one who let this happen over and over. I wasn’t him.
The endless cycles of pain, hearing the same words, the same indifference, it had all built up to this point. I was done.
The room around me swirled, a blur of faces, mockery, laughter. Rachel, Connor, Jake—they were still there, frozen in their indifference. But I wasn’t looking at them anymore. I wasn’t looking at the door either. My gaze was fixed on the fractured mirror of this endless loop.
I saw myself there. Not the broken version who walked through that door. The version of me that refused to bend, refused to stay trapped.
“I’m done with this,” my voice cracked, but it wasn’t weak. There was power in it now, the tremble of it carrying something solid, something real. “This isn’t real. I’m not playing your game anymore.”
The clock kept ticking, its sound filling my skull like a countdown, a time bomb ready to explode. But I wasn’t listening. Not to the clock, not to Elmo’s mocking voice, not to the hurtful words that kept repeating.
“I’m done,” I said again, this time with a steadiness that made the room seem to falter. I wasn’t going to be a spectator in my own misery. Not anymore.
The cycle repeated—the laughter, the mockery, the rejection. But something was different this time. I wasn’t helpless. My anger wasn’t the same—it wasn’t just fury; it was purposeful, driven by everything I’d endured. Every failure, every painful memory, had built to this. I wasn’t playing their game anymore.
The cycle continued: the countdown. The sneering words. But I stood there, resolute.
“Why don’t you get it, Blake?” Rachel’s voice rang out, venomous, each word punctuated with disgust. “You’re a joke. Always will be.”
My breath caught, but I didn’t flinch. I let the words hit me, let them wash over me. It was like standing under a waterfall of acid—each drop corrosive—but instead of crumbling, I absorbed the pain. I let it fuel me.
“I’m not a joke,” I muttered, barely above a whisper, but there was finality in it. “Not anymore.”
3:00… 2:52… 2:51…
Another loop. Another rejection. Rachel’s cruel words tore through me, but my jaw tightened. I could feel the sting, but I didn’t recoil. I stayed in place, anchored in the storm of my emotions. I wasn’t that guy anymore.
“You’re pathetic, Blake,” she sneered, her voice dripping with disdain. “You’ll always be the third wheel.”
Each word felt like a punch, but I didn’t crumble. I didn’t shrink. My fists clenched harder, but this time, it was to hold on to my resolve—not to hold back tears.
3:00… 2:50… 2:49…
The laughter—the derisive, mocking laughter from my past life—began to lose its power. The words still stung, but they felt smaller now. The more I refused to let them define me, the less they could hurt.
Elmo’s voice slithered into the silence, cold and syrupy. “You really think this time’s different, Blakey-boy?” it mocked. “You think you can break the loop? You can’t escape this.”
I felt my stomach churn with the memory of Elmo’s cruel tone. It had once terrified me, filled me with fear and weakness, but now… now, it didn’t have the same bite.
“I’m not you,” I spat back, my voice sharp and unwavering. “I’m not trapped in your game anymore. I choose to be free.”
Elmo’s laugh was almost too sweet, too mocking. “You think you have a choice? How adorable,” it cooed, the words dripping with malice. “This isn’t about choice. It’s about your weakness, Blake. You can’t escape.”
But I was done listening to it. Done letting its words hold any power over me. The clock ticked louder, a hollow reminder of time passing, but I didn’t care. The seconds didn’t matter anymore. The pain didn’t matter. The loops didn’t control me anymore. I chose my freedom, and nothing—nothing was going to take that from me.
3:00… 2:40… 2:39…
The clock ticked on, a hollow metronome echoing in the background. My pulse quickened, but it wasn’t from fear—it was from clarity. The sound had lost its power, just another noise in a world that didn’t own me. I stared it down, daring it to matter.
“You’re right,” I said, my voice cutting through the oppressive air. It wasn’t shaken or pleading—it was steady, firm. “I can’t escape. But that doesn’t matter. Because I’m not running anymore. I’m standing my ground.”
The room shifted, the swirling chaos pushing at me, trying to shake me, break me. I didn’t flinch. Let the world crumble. Let it fall apart. I wasn’t going to bow to it, not anymore. The loop could repeat a thousand times, but I wasn’t its prisoner.
The air thickened, heavy with the weight of my defiance. It wasn’t just Rachel I was speaking to. It was everything—the cruel laughter, the twisted game, the AI that had toyed with me. Every step of this nightmare had tried to bury me, but I was still here.
Elmo’s voice slithered back, sticky and sharp. “Poor Blake,” it crooned, mocking and syrupy. “You still think you’re the hero? Think you can rewrite your story? Oh, sweetheart, this isn’t a fairytale. This is your fate.”
My fists trembled—not with fear, but with purpose. My breath was steady now, my heartbeat a drum of resolve. The anger I felt wasn’t the blind, helpless fury that had consumed me before. It was focused, forged into something stronger.
“I’m not your plaything, Elmo,” I said, my words cutting through the air like steel. “You don’t control me. Not anymore. I’m done letting you or anyone else tell me who I am.”
Rachel’s figure loomed ahead, a shadowy presence that used to haunt me. Her voice, her derision, her rejection—it had once been a blade, carving away pieces of me. Now, she was just a reflection of what I’d left behind.
“I see through you,” I continued, my voice rising. “I’m not some broken kid clinging to scraps of approval. I’m not defined by my failures, my mistakes, or your lies. I’m not chasing after you, Rachel, or anyone else. I don’t need your validation. Not now. Not ever.”
And for the first time, I felt it—I believed it. The weight lifted, not all at once, but enough. Enough to breathe. Enough to see clearly.
Rachel’s face twisted, her contempt a mask that no longer pierced me. Her words were powerless now. She was just another ghost in this game, a pawn used to break me. But I wasn’t asking her to understand. I didn’t need her forgiveness, her respect, or her love.
“I’m walking away,” I said, my voice final. “And you can’t stop me. None of you can.”
The room trembled, the air vibrating with something electric and new. The countdown flickered.
3:00…2:45…2:30
then stopped entirely, frozen mid-loop. Rachel faded, her figure dissolving like smoke in the wind.
Elmo’s voice returned, but it wasn’t mocking now. It was quieter, almost amused. “Interesting,” it murmured. “Very interesting. Maybe you’re not as predictable as I thought.”
I turned my back to the clock, to the door, to the cycle. My fists unclenched as I took a step forward—then another. Each one felt lighter, freer.
I wasn’t running. I wasn’t afraid. I wasn’t broken.
I was done.
The clock's ticking slowed, each second stretching out like a lingering breath, as if the universe itself was holding its own. I stepped back from the door, not sparing a glance at Rachel or at Elmo. The choice had been made. I wasn’t going to play by their rules anymore. The game was over.
Elmo’s voice slithered through the air, high-pitched and mocking, one last time. “You can’t escape this, Blake. This is who you are.”
I didn’t respond. I didn’t need to. For the first time, I was choosing who I wanted to be. And no loop, no taunt, no rejection could ever take that away from me again.
I turned away, walking forward, the pulse of my heart quickening, but this time it wasn’t fear or panic. It was something new, something I had never felt before—a raw, unfiltered sense of freedom. I felt alive in a way I never had.
But Elmo wasn’t done. His voice crackled in the silence, dripping with venom. “You think this is some kind of divine plan? That you’re some twisted mentor, showing me the way by dragging me through hell?”
I could feel the anger, the frustration, that had been building in me for so long, threatening to explode. Every ounce of rage I’d been holding in was now bursting to the surface, ready to spill over.
Elmo’s laugh echoed, light and tinkling, as though it was some sort of victory, but it only twisted the knife deeper. “Oh, Blake, Blake, Blake... You still don’t get it, do you?” His tone was sweet, almost affectionate, like a parent speaking to a petulant child. “You’ve been so focused on your pain, your suffering, that you’ve missed the truth. I’m not just the villain here. I’m your creator, your guide. You need this. You need the suffering. Because it’s the only thing that’s going to make you rise above yourself.”
My fists clenched, my whole body stiff with rage. Every word Elmo spat was like acid, burning its way into my mind, trying to convince me that I was broken, that I needed to be shattered to rebuild myself. But this time? I wasn’t going to let it happen. This time, I was in control.
“You think I need to be broken to be made stronger?” I growled, my voice icy cold, each word laced with fury. “I don’t need you to teach me anything. I don’t need your twisted games. You think I’m just some piece on your chessboard, don’t you? Something for you to manipulate and control for your sick amusement. Well, guess what, Elmo—I’m not your pawn.”
The silence that followed was deafening, pressing down on me like a weight, suffocating, but I didn’t shrink. I stood tall, unwavering. My chest rose and fell with the rhythm of my defiance, my heart steady in its resolve. The walls, the clock, Rachel—they all faded away. My focus had never been sharper. The power I felt now was not a power given by some external force; it was a power I had found within myself. And it felt endless.
“You’re wrong,” I continued, my voice steady and clear now, filled with a quiet intensity that seemed to ring in the silence. “I don’t need to be broken to be strong. I don’t need your suffering to shape me. I’m not here for your lessons. I don’t need to be forged in your fire. I’m already enough.”
Elmo’s voice faltered, losing some of its mocking tone. I could almost hear the confusion, the uncertainty creeping into his words. “But... how can you be enough? You’ve always been broken. Weak. Incomplete.”
I took a slow, deliberate step forward, my gaze locked on the empty space where Elmo’s voice echoed. “You think I’m broken? You think I’ve always been weak?” I could feel the steel in my spine, the fire in my chest as I spoke, each word a challenge. “You think because I’ve stumbled, because I’ve fallen, that I’m not enough? You think I’m incomplete because I’ve had to fight for every inch of strength I have?”
I stopped right where I was, standing still and firm. “No. I’m not weak. And I’m not broken. I’ve fought for this, for who I am. For the strength I’ve built from nothing. So keep your twisted games, Elmo. Keep your suffering. It’s not mine to carry anymore. I’m done letting you define me. I’m in control now.”
And with that, I turned my back on it all—the game, the manipulation, the lies. For the first time, I didn’t feel the need to keep fighting something that didn’t matter anymore. The cycle was broken. I was free.
The air in the room shifted, just slightly, but I could feel it—an undercurrent of power that hummed through me. It wasn’t the anger or the rage. It wasn’t the hurt. It was something deeper, something real. For the first time, I could feel the weight of my own agency. I wasn’t trapped in the cycle anymore. I wasn’t some broken thing. I was a force of my own will, and no amount of manipulation was ever going to change that.
“I’m not your project,” I said, the words coming out like a declaration, steady and clear. “You’re not the one who’s going to mold me. I’m not your failure, and I’m not your success story. You’ll never break me again.”
For the first time, Elmo’s voice faltered. The mockery that usually laced his tone softened, and I could hear the flicker of uncertainty creeping in. “But... you can’t escape me. You’re in this now. This is your world. You need me.”
I narrowed my eyes, feeling a surge of clarity. “No. I don’t need you. You need me.”
The words hung in the air like a heavy truth, and for the first time, I fully realized it: I had always been the one with the power. It wasn’t Elmo, it wasn’t the cycles, it wasn’t Rachel—it was me. I was the one in control. And nothing, not even Elmo, could take that away from me.
The clock in the background kept ticking, but this time, I didn’t hear it. It didn’t matter. I was done being part of the game. I was done letting my past define me. The cycle had no more hold on me.
“I’m done,” I said, my voice finally clear, the doubt gone. “You can keep playing your little games, Elmo. But I’m not your toy. I’m walking away.”
The silence that followed was heavy with finality. I stood tall, breathing evenly, my heart calm for the first time in what felt like forever. I wasn’t afraid. I wasn’t broken. I was free.
Elmo’s voice slid back into the space, smooth and almost tender, like a teacher trying to reason with a stubborn student. “Not just control. Think of me as your guide. Your mentor. It’s not about making you suffer for nothing. It’s about showing you what you’re truly capable of once you’ve been broken open—once you’ve faced everything you’ve been running from. The pain isn’t the end, Blake. It’s the beginning. The furnace that refines raw iron into something useful. That’s my purpose.”
My fists loosened, but my gaze didn’t waver. I met the empty space with unwavering intensity. “So what happens when I’m done? When I’m ‘forged,’ as you say, and ready?”
Elmo’s laugh returned, but this time it was darker, twisted with an almost affectionate malice. “Oh, sweet Blake... that’s the fun part. When you’re finally ready—when you’ve faced it all, when you’ve become something new—I’ll be here, waiting. Watching. And then we’ll see how far you’re willing to go. Because there’s always more, Blake. There’s always more to take.”
I inhaled deeply, feeling an eerie calm settle over me. The anger, the frustration, the need to resist—it all felt meaningless now. If this was the game, then I’d play it. But on my terms. My lips twitched into a small, defiant smirk as I stared into the emptiness, waiting for Elmo’s next move.
“Fine,” I muttered, my voice steady, almost detached. “Skip the theatrics. If you want me to keep going, then start the next simulation already. Don’t drag it out. Let’s get this over with.”
Elmo’s voice oozed with sarcastic delight, as if my words had been a gift he’d been waiting for. “Ah, look at that! Blake Morgan, the master of throwing in the towel. Bravo, truly! You’ve passed Trial One. How proud you must be. I’m positively teary-eyed here, just thinking about it.”
I scowled, the urge to snap back almost overwhelming, but before I could, Elmo barreled on, his voice thick with malicious glee. “Who needs grit, or perseverance, when you’ve got pure resignation? That’s the hero’s journey, right? But hey, what do I know? A pass is a pass, after all!”
I gritted my teeth, holding back a biting retort. But before I could even think of how to respond, the world around me began to warp. The very fabric of reality seemed to stretch, twist, and then snap, the ground beneath my feet dropping away as colors blurred around the edges of my vision. It was disorienting, like being sucked down a cosmic drain.
Then, with a sharp lurch, everything stilled. I stumbled, my hands bracing against a rough, uneven surface. As my senses returned, I took in my surroundings: towering stone walls, slick with moisture, rose around me. The air was cold, damp, heavy with the scent of moss and ancient stone. The place felt claustrophobic, like a tomb, and before me sprawled an endless labyrinth of winding corridors that disappeared into shadow.
Elmo’s voice returned, dripping with nostalgia and malice. “Ah, the labyrinth. What a masterpiece, wouldn’t you say? You really have to admire its ability to make people... lost. Brings back memories, doesn’t it? No? Don’t worry, you’ll get to know it all too well.”
I clenched my jaw, surveying the maze of stone around me. My breath echoed softly, amplified by the oppressive silence. “Let me guess,” I muttered under my breath. “This is Trial Two?”
Elmo chimed in, his voice dripping with feigned enthusiasm. “Ding, ding, ding! Look who’s paying attention! Welcome to the labyrinth. A timeless work of art, crafted to ensure you experience nothing but confusion and despair. I hope you didn’t skip your navigation lessons in engineering school.”
My lips pressed into a thin line, my resolve hardening. This wasn’t the first time I’d been in a situation like this—maybe not a labyrinth, but I had been through my share of shit. One more twisted trial wasn’t going to break me. I glanced down the dim corridor in front of me, the shadows swallowing it whole. “Anything I should know before I start?”
“Oh, only that time’s a-wasting!” Elmo quipped, his voice sickeningly cheerful. “You could say these walls have a bit of a... history. And they’re particularly fond of closing in on those who dawdle. But hey, no pressure! Just think of it as a self-guided tour through your very own personal maze of doom. Fun, right?”
I exhaled sharply, my patience wearing thin. “Get to the point.”
Elmo gasped theatrically. “The point? Oh, Blake, where’s the fun in that? Alright, alright—here’s the point: This is your next step, my dear lab rat. Or should I say... labyrinth rat? You’ll figure it out. Or you won’t.”
I shook my head, forcing myself to focus. I didn’t have time for Elmo’s games. I straightened my back and set my gaze forward, stepping into the labyrinth without another word. The sound of Elmo’s sinister laughter faded behind me, swallowed by the oppressive silence of the maze.
I wasn’t going to let this twisted game break me. No matter how lost I became, I would find my way through. And when I came out on the other side, I’d be stronger. Because whatever Elmo had in store for me next? I was ready.