“Greeting’s, Miss! Welcome to Hotel Limbo!”

A well-practiced greeting shocks me from my stupor. The voice is peppy and controlled, cleverly trained to hide any feeling of personal attachment or emotion. The words themselves are scrambled within me, their meaning unregistered, uncomprehended. The voice carries a careful lilting, with the smooth coordination of a well-trained orchestra. Each word has been perfectly measured, a precise amount of information provided to the listener in a single sentence, meant to influence the recipient’s actions by calming the situation and establishing a friendly demeanor.

Through my blistering headache and dull awareness, I manage to catch a glimpse of the speaker, of the youth sitting before me. In between the rapid blinking of my eyes, my brain automatically collects information on the young man, quickly forming a profile before I even realize what it is I’m doing. The gentle young man sits behind a large reception desk, rhythmically tapping on the worn and noisy keyboard placed before him. His slim, nimble fingers fly repeatedly across the same few keys, thumping in a cacophonous storm in conjunction with the violent clicking of his mouse. The well-rounded fingernails that fit evenly on his slender hands are reminiscent of an established pianist, one who’s respected across the globe.

My blank mind, still reeling from the sudden alertness, groggily attempts to remain calm. All I can do is press my fingers against my temples, wincing at the grating headache threatening to split my brain asunder. My vision wobbles, the world around me spinning in a drunken mess of color and light. Through the kaleidoscope of scenery, the young man’s appearance continues to record itself into the library of information within me, the collection of data happening in the fraction of a millisecond. The act is completely impulsive, wholly without the express command to observe.

From outer appearance alone, he’s cute. His face is slightly plump, with baby fat framing his profile. His neatly styled light-brown hair captures the purity of his character, further accentuated by his glittering green eyes and grinning lips. His childish features form a pleasing contrast to the well-maintained uniform covering his body. The uniform in question is a mysterious dark blue. Golden stitches follow the trim of the sleeves and collar, presenting a clearly defined image of class and luxury. The suit looks to be made of silk and velvet, a rather outdated style considering modern fashion, but respectable nonetheless.

Peering through the ocean’s depths, the sparkling golden buttons erupt in a brilliance only afforded to the few that would go so far as to challenge the Sun’s radiance. The singular line they draw are evenly spaced, not a single button out-of-place. The young man is dressed with all the elegance I’d expect from someone of a well-off position, someone important. From this observation alone it can be understood that all the actors are in place, that the scene is proceeding as expected.

“Wha-… What?”

The unconscious and conscious finally merge, colliding like two particles within an accelerator. At the impact, I can only shiver in mute confusion. When I finally manage to reform the shambles of my mind, I find myself standing frozen, a few paces away from the stranger. I’m unsure how much time has passed since I was first welcomed, but it must not have been long, as the young man positioned at the desk shows no sign of awkwardness. From that I gather that my brain-splitting confusion lasted an inconsequential amount of time, even though it felt like an eternity. Despite now being whole in thought, my mind is still blank. Suddenly, I feel as if I forgot something I briefly understood, something deeply important to me.

Still, no matter how desperately I attempt to recall what it was I forgot, the inner depths of my mind remain quiet, stiller than a body in a morgue. I experience a deep seated frustration bashing in the back of my subconscious, clawing at my unconscious mind like a wild beast in a cage. Whatever it was I forgot, I can do nothing at present to recall the lost information. I easily accept my powerlessness in the situation, moving on to the physical world before me.

I look away from the man, my lingering gaze still dull in perception, but slowly beginning to brighten, like the dawn of a new day. Smoothly switching targets, I begin to inspect my body, attempting to draw some sort of conclusion from my attire. Perhaps by instinct, I immediately search for some form of identification, which would most likely be tucked away in one of my pockets. It's a discovery that could clear away the skepticism clouding my judgment. Despite my efforts, however, my pockets remain empty, my endeavor fruitless. I gradually come to understand the gaps in my mind. My memories are gone. Identity, forgotten. History, erased. Purpose in life, missing.

At present I possess none of the crucial information necessary to fill the hollow skin of my character. I take in the present reality unnervingly well, as if a switch had been preemptively flipped before I even had the chance to panic. Almost robotically, I continue with my actions, for some reason refusing to dwell on my amnesia.

While professionally patting myself down, I quickly notice certain features about my body. Gently, I twine a strand of back-length hair around my index finger, marveling at its softness. Reminiscent of the depths of the universe, the tar-colored hair is astoundingly silky, clearly well taken care of. The milk-white I see covering my hands and arms is completely without blemish, a sharp contrast to the young man’s tagged flesh. Softly stroking the skin on my forearm, I feel a hint of unease at the glassy springiness, reminding me of the polished porcelain of a doll. My rounded fingernails are glossy and shaped, perfectly manicured without a hint of imperfection. Shifting my gaze, I notice that even looking closely I fail to spot a single hair on my arms, as if there had never been any in the first place.

I take note of my outfit, filing away my physical features for later perusal. With every second of observation, the traces of uneasiness and confusion dissipates. Though it still feels like I’m swimming through an ocean of honey, I can naturally tell that the speed of my conscious thinking is enhancing.

The light-blue jeans I see enveloping my lower half are without wrinkles, perfectly fitting against my rather plump bottom. A slim leather belt, solid black in color, wraps tightly around my gentle waist, the solid-silver buckle etched with meaningless lines and designs, though the fine craftsmanship is obvious even to my untrained eyes.

Further down, my slightly small feet are encased in black, knee-high socks that disappear up my pant leg, the fabric soft enough to be silk, the article clinging tightly to my limbs. My white running shoes are kept in pristine condition, as if their name is merely a suggestion. They look completely unused, and are practically molded to my feet.

Covering my upper half, I feel the tightness of a bra enveloping my breasts, it’s color unknown, though the fabric is form-fitting and secure. Enveloping it is a rose-colored blouse, its bottom bunched up at the waist and elbow. Black buttons line the center of the shirt, glimmering a dark onyx.

“Hm? Is something wrong, Miss. You’ve been accepted, that’s why you’re here! Don’t worry, your room is already prepared.”

“I booked a room?”

“Naturally!”

He controls the conversation with perfect ease, the casualness of his actions instantly calming my creeping panic. The slight cock of his head as he easily and smoothly flicks his eyes towards me, all in an effort to carefully administer only the most necessary of information, is masterful. I continue to maintain the image of a panicked fool, and while I’m certainly suffocated in the embrace of the unknown, truly being terrified by my missing memories will only hinder my chances of survival. I give the stranger a faltering smile, precisely twitching the muscles around my eyes and mouth so it appears as if the expression is forced and exaggerated.

With obvious hesitation, I look around the lobby, trying to glean as much information as possible in a single glance.

Truthfully the lobby is far more extravagant than I initially expected. Marble tiles are conjoined in a symmetrical pattern. The high domed ceiling with the glowing chandelier affixed in the center, and the silver-ash walls connected to it, box the expansive area in a cage of majesty. To my left and right, distant and submerged in shadow, two opposing hallways gape their maws, waiting enticingly for any new-coming visitors. I notice the lack of windows and natural sunlight, as well as the controlled solemnity of the world around me. Everything is pristine, stainless, not a scuff on the floor nor the flickering of a light. The atmosphere is somehow familiar.

Separating the room into thirds, each section perfectly measured and uniform in a way that allows easy access to each area without hindrance, are half walls reaching my hips in height. Placed atop the walls, filling the space left between the ceiling, are crystal-clear fish tanks, colorful fantasies encapsulated within the glass. Rainbow-pastel light spills out onto the floor, mixing like wet paint with the blue luminescence of the overhead chandelier. Inside the fish tanks are creatures of wonder, their alien forms curious to gaze upon. Within the underwater exhibition swim half-transparent beings covered in strobing lights, tentacles, bulbs, and white eyes.

The “fish” inside are unfamiliar as they leisurely float within the confines of their little world, completely oblivious to the outsider staring at them in wonder. The world within the water is a demonstration of many periods in time, a reflection of human history and progress. Medieval castles and towering forests, pyramids and colosseums, crawling gothic cities, archaic metal buildings flooded with lights and flashing billboards, and modern towers of neon and onyx, encased within bubbles crafted from gems.

Beyond the buzzing tanks, pressed against the walls with class and luxury are sofas, chairs, and tables. Their fine forms fill the space between, the comfort they exude as inviting as a sibling’s open embrace. The artistry of the furniture is obvious at a mere glance, as the pristine white cushions and pillows look reminiscent of clouds torn straight from the sky, and as the tables are meticulous works of art glistening with a clean polish. Below me, stretching from the reception desk to the opposite wall, is a scarlet rug, soft and bouncy with the expected impermanence of a brand-new piece of furniture.

At the end of the rug is a solid black slab, similar in shape to a door, yet lacking any hinges or protrusions, as if it’s simply a blackened rectangular space with no real use. Opposing the slab is the desk, a solid dark wood that looks oily in the sapphire light it’s bathed in. The etchings engraved on the surface have the words ‘Hotel Limbo’ surrounded by silver and gold fillings, the spiraling pattern giving the piece a magical, mystical appraisal. Spread across the desk are a variety of items, their use simple to conclude. Stacks of white paper sit near the rather bulky monitor, and pens and pencils stand erect within the mesh cup near the small basket labeled ‘maps’.

I gain an understanding of my present situation, yet I can’t help but feel a blockage within my mind, an impassable barrier that prevents me from making any finalizing conclusions or theories. All I can do is wait and watch, ready to interpret the truth when it eventually dawns on me. At present, all I can do is learn.

“Excuse me, Mister, who are you?”

I constrict my vocal cords, forcing my voice to quiver in dictated calmness, maintaining my perfectly crafted facade of an internally panicking young woman. Another part of me, a warmer, softer part feels the urge to trust the man, sensing a kind and open personality. I can tell, however, how engineered the young man’s every move is, and I don’t wish to fall victim to any malicious scheme. Hearing my question, a response is almost instantly thrown back at me, and I can tell that he mistimed his answer, replying slightly too fast. I instantly feel a sense of superiority flood my senses as I see through the act, almost forgetting to stop the smirk from twisting my lips. Ah, what a fool, to think he would try to compete against me in the field of deception.

“Me? Well, I don’t remember my old name, so I usually just have everyone call me Cat!”

“You don’t remember your old name..? How terrible! And what do you mean by ‘everyone’? Are there other people here?”

“Yeah, everyone! I have tons of friends here, they have to call me something, right? And don’t forget that we’re in a hotel for crying out loud! I can’t have people saying ‘you’ or ‘that person’ when they need help! It’d be chaos!”

“Haha, I’m sure…”

The young man suddenly chuckles to himself, teeth flashing in an act of defiance and humor. With a flourish of fierce determination his fingers fly in a flurry of movement across his keyboard, the rapid tapping reminiscent of the pitter-patter of rain on a window. His bright eyes flicker after a drawn out moment of intense concentration. Eventually, his face finally blooms with pride as he lets out a low and victorious sigh. Seeing all this, I gather he’s playing a competitive game of some kind, at least that much is obvious. Still, with a puzzled, dumbstruck look on my face, I question the man with confusion lathering my words.

“Umm… What are you doing?”

“Heh, just teaching some newbies a lesson!”

Such an anachronistic term. “Newbie” is beyond a dead word, to the point that I’m honestly surprised someone of his standing even knows it. However, now that I look… Yes, perhaps I’ve made too many assumptions about this young man’s actual age. It makes more sense that a child, a naturally unfettered species with no standing in society, would know such old language. Only children have the time to investigate such useless interests. Now that I’m aware of the possibility, Cat definitely looks to be around the ages of 13 or 14, way too juvenile to be manning the front desk of a luxury hotel, a job where one must have a pristine appearance and unrivaled manners.

Though, perhaps his age is a trick meant to lower my guard, a way to get him under my skin and into my mind. Looking closely, I begin to see more of him, now that my mind has received it’s jolt of shock and is becoming increasingly aware the more time I spend thinking. Dark circles rest underneath Cat’s eyes, a sign that he stays up late into the night, most likely gaming according to his present actions, and his body slightly leans forward, not quite as rimrod straight as I'd expect an adult in his position to sit. It is a strange choice, however. Why would a hotel of such standing allow children to have such important jobs? I file the information away, adding it to my ever expanding catalog of thoughts to peruse.

“Of course, it’s important that you enjoy yourself, especially someone as young as you! Oh! By the way, do you have my name listed anywhere? It should be by my room, if I’m going to guess.”

I take the risk. It’s a gamble, assuming my amnesia is unexpected. But I predict Cat mentioned his lack of a name on purpose, hinting that there’s no need to play the fool, no need to pretend to understand when he expects me not to. Even if it’s not the case, and I am abnormal in my situation, I can play off my question with the excuse that I forgot my room number, since I apparently booked a room beforehand. The attempt to disguise the question also fits with my current persona, so there’s nothing that would make him suspect me of anything. Thankfully, Cat takes my question in stride.

“Hmmm? Typically we aren’t told our names, but I’ll check for you! Gimme a sec…”

I make another note of the strange response, becoming increasingly unsure as to whether these little slips are intentional or not. While definitely not impossible, there is a chance that there is no trickery at play, and that the boy before me is simply a kindhearted child. Even so, there have been a few strange reactions, and there definitely were times where he answered a bit too fast… Am I overthinking this? Is my brain in a state of hyperawareness, tricking itself into noticing the smallest, most meaningless details? Am I just confusing myself, jumping at every shadow out of the corner of my eye? But what else could he mean?

It’s possible that my amnesia is very intentional and is all but expected, but then I have to wonder, ‘Why?’. Why would someone go through the effort of ridding me of my history, placing me inside this strange hotel, and not even bothering to leave any instructions? Is this an experiment of some kind? A sick joke? Did I agree beforehand to have this happen to me, or was I kidnapped and am being wrongfully abused?

As I fumble with my inner turmoil, Cat diligently flicks his mouse with swift movements. Tabbing away from his game, he smoothly pulls up information on the hotel, scrolling and clicking all the while. I see the reflection of the screen in his eyes, the blue glow of the monitor preventing me from accurately grasping any information, other than a few models and schematics that don’t even look like they belong in a hotel. Despite the distance between the two of us, I can definitely get a rough estimate of what he’s looking at. Still, if only I could take his spot and access that database of information at my leisure. I’m sure if I had a connection to the servers I could get a better grasp of the situation.

Regrettably, I doubt I’ll ever have the chance to do such things. There are currently severe limits to what I'm actually capable of doing at this present moment, and playing around on a computer is definitely not an option.

Suddenly, the clicking stops. The absolute absence of noise is slightly startling, it leaves an empty space in the lobby where there was once a warm presence. The sudden coldness of the room is oppressive, a drawn out moment of unavoidable tautness, like hearing a car crash before your world is suddenly flipped upside down. That silence is almost immediately filled with a shocked gasp, instantly clearing away the creeping tension like a rainshower in a desert.

“Huh?! Now that’s a rare case! Well, Miss. Mary, looks like you really did fill your name in! Honestly, not too many people remember to do that, so consider me impressed!”

“Mary… What a lovely name…”

There’s a powerful pull at the back of my mind and I feel my neck muscles tighten against the imaginary strain. The feeling is slightly painful, like an unseen stranger just yanked my hair back, threatening to tear the strands from my head. The name itself washes away the fear lodged within my chest, flooding my lungs with a sharp, cool air, like sucking in a breath on a cold night. My throbbing head fades a bit when the name graces my ears, allowing me clearer, calmer thought. What is this? Why does this name mean so much to me? Have I always had such a connection to my name? Is this a reaction to the name specifically, or to gaining information about my past? Will I feel such sensations in the future? Or is this a one time thing?

A voice, a voice I’ve failed to truly notice since I’ve been awake, whispers in the back of my mind. The strangely distant voice says I’m acting unusual, that I need to be careful, that I can’t be caught. At least, that’s what I assume it says. No matter how hard I listen, I can’t actually make out what the voice is saying, like I’m trying to hear faint muttering through a brick wall.

“What an odd thing to say… Anyways! Now that you’ve been checked in by yours truly, it’s about time you pay attention! I don’t know how, but you’ve arrived late and it’s almost time for me to head in. So, let's get this done with, and we can both be on our way, got it?”

“U-um, of course! Go right ahead!”

“Great! Well, we have seven rules that must be followed if you wish for a peaceful existence here, so pay attention young Miss!

Avoid going to floors five levels higher or lower than your own. Exceptions would be the floors with activities on them, so make sure to grab a map before you leave. Don’t leave your room after 3 AM. A lot of the tenants here aren’t comfortable with people wandering around while they sleep. Close your bathroom door before you go to sleep. If you leave your room between the times 3 AM and 7 AM, avoid reacting to anyone you see, hear, or otherwise sense. Do not enter any room other than your own, without the express permission of the room owner. Follow all orders of the Manager. Greet all your neighbors.

“Do you understand Miss? If you don’t you can always ask for clarification! J-just not right now since I need to go. Anyways, I’ll see you later Mary! Oh, and don’t forget to ring that bell right there! Mr. Arridy will be leading you to your room, tell him I say hi! G’night Mary, enjoy your stay!”

After finishing his long winded, rapid paced speech, Cat shuts down his computer with a few taps on his keyboard, the machine silently powering off in a matter of seconds. I follow him with my eyes as I gradually digest and try to understand the provided rules. I’m about to wish him good night when he hurries out from behind the desk, shutting down my attempts at conversation instantly. As he adjusts his uniform with quick maneuvers, I watch in startled silence as he hobbles towards the shadowy hallway to my right, his movement jerking in an unorthodox, almost painful manner.

Seeing his appearance, I feel a blade of horror pierce through my core, and the claws of fear strangle my heart. Shivers run down my spine, as if someone is dragging a knife against my vertebrae, the soft sawing causing my skin to break out into goosebumps. My stomach lurches and flips, the urge to vomit out of disgust nearly overwhelms me. I only manage to hold myself in place with extreme focus. I’m too shocked to even give a proper reaction, my face an iron, impassive mask.

Cat’s lower body is a mangled mess beyond logical understanding. It is truly shocking that a human is capable of surviving in such a state. The bones of his legs and pelvis are bent and twisted, curling around like a gnarled tree. His feet, though tucked away in his shoes, wind outwards, like they’ve been smashed into a pulp and forcibly solidified, taking on the shape of whatever housed them. His lower limbs seem elongated, with every movement causing a slight balancing act to ensue as Cat struggles to move quickly and escape from my sight. The figure is disturbing, disgusting, and repulsive. Never have I seen such deformity, and never do I wish to lay eyes on such a creature again.

No… I need to calm down. Such thoughts are unwarranted. I’m sure Cat never asked to look that way, and I’m sure he’s not happy being in such a state. I don’t understand why I responded with such disgust. Perhaps something happened in my forgotten past that seeded such intense repulsion, but it’s wrong of me to act that way when I don’t even remember what it was that caused these feelings. My internal struggle lasts longer than I expect, my compassionate side trying to suppress the unjustified nausea I feel whenever I think about Cat’s appearance.

Eventually, I manage to smother my emotions, burying my disgust under the logic of ‘I don’t have the luxury of feeling disgusted by the appearance of others, I need to secure my safety.’ Once my mind clears, I can’t help but feel a touch of sympathy and shame. Poor kid.

I shake my head, clearing away all emotions but the bare essentials necessary to function. With a cold gaze, I glance about. I’m completely alone. The shadows seem deeper, darker, than they first appeared when I originally studied this room, and the sapphire light seems saturated, sickening. Is it an illusion? Or is there really something causing the room to shrink and spin around me? It’s quiet. Why is it so quiet? Didn’t the fish tanks have a buzz? Without Cat’s keyboard to fill the space, I can’t be sure if sound is even allowed in this place. Constricting. Oppressive. This hotel has inspired emotions within me I’m sure I’ve never experienced before.

Such authority has already been instilled upon me. Was this intentional? Was I right in my assumptions? Has everything up until now been an act? A play directed by this mysterious ‘Manager’ that desires my absolute obedience? In such an environment, I can begin to understand how such tyranny would inspire submission.

I feel a headache begin to form as the world bends and wavers about me. The instant I rapidly blink, clearing away the vertigo, the lobby snaps back into place, and nothing is out of the ordinary. The fish tanks still buzz, the light spreads to every corner of the room evenly, the walls remain firmly motionless. Nothing out of the ordinary. My eyes are drawn to the basket with the label ‘Maps’ plastered on its front. Moving closer, I reach over and pick one up, intending to inspect my findings. Surprisingly the bundle is thick and heavy, weighing in my hand more like a book and less like a pamphlet. As I start to open it, a small silver bell catches the corner of my eye.

The unblemished surface of the object glistens brightly, twinkling under the sapphire light of the crystalline chandeliers. On its face are detailed engravings depicting strange, formless scenes and words. Remembering Cat’s advice, I reach out and tap the bell, unleashing a deafening ‘Ding!’ that fills every corner of my mind.

The noise momentarily stuns me, locking me in place as I quickly recover. The obnoxious noise was loud enough to wake the dead, and I can’t help but find it a bit distasteful. As I grumble to myself I notice a hulking figure slowly approach me. The gradual meander of the shadowy stranger makes heavy footsteps, each thump reminiscent of a hammer banging against wood. The cumbersome outline is camouflaged with the overhead light, a barely distinct mass of blue that draws closer and closer. Deep within me I feel a desperate force thrashing about, begging me to trust my instincts and flee to safety. I have a foreboding feeling that I’m completely surrounded by danger.

Cat’s words keep me rooted in place. I know that I’m supposed to be waiting for someone named ‘Arridy’, so this is probably the man I'm looking for. Even so, the oppressive force I feel bearing down on me by the lumbering figure is palpable. Cautiously, I decide to stay, watching blankly as the man stumbles close, an absurd amount of agitation digging into my heart like pins and needles.

Thump…

Thump…

Thump…

Thud!

The shadowy mass halts before me, a brush of air buffeting my face, the scent of the breath smelling vaguely fruity. The features of the stranger are still obscured due to the dim light, blurred in a sapphire haze. The heavy breaths confirm that the man is in fact real, that I’m not suffering some sort of hallucination, and so I can confidently say that at present, I am in no immediate danger. What should I do though? I tentatively watch the stranger for a moment. He doesn’t move an inch, simply standing in the shadows, heavy breaths filling the space between us. With no other option left, I speak out, a confident, unfazed voice flowing from my lips.

It’s a demeanor entirely different from the one I had with Cat, but I sense that this type of character will suit me more, plus, it’s a style I slip right into. The manner in which I conceal my raging emotions, twisting them into a constructive coat of armor, feels almost second nature to me.

“Mr. Arridy, I presume?”

I see the squarish head nod dully, the movements slow and laborious. It seems that it wasn’t for the purpose of intimidation that he pressured me so, but rather that he’s lacking in the mind and was waiting for my instruction. I find my bristling emotions settling, a still calmness finally washing over me, flooding my nerves and releasing the tension I’ve felt since this man’s arrival.

“Cat says hello.”

I hear Arridy moan, his voice deep and grating, like a dog's growl or a machine’s purr. It’s a slow rumble of comprehension, which leads me to believe this man is entirely wanting in the speech department. Is that really the case though? It’s possible that this is an act, that he’s merely pretending to be incompetent… No, if that were the case I would have seen through it. Few are able to fool me through body language alone. If there’s one thing I know about myself, despite all that I’ve forgotten, it’s that I’m a master at my craft. I focus on the dullard before me, giving him orders with casual ease.

“Take me to my room. You should know where it is.”

I have no reason to think that, honestly, other than the fact that I was never told my room number by Cat. Even then, the child could have forgotten to tell me in his hurry to leave. Despite that, I present myself in a manner that orders no questioning. If I admitted to confusion even momentarily, then I’d fail my role and would give any observers a way to strike. Keeping this appearance is far more important than keeping the one I had with Cat, so if any unseen foe watched both interactions, then they need to think that this unwavering confidence and self-assuredness is my true face, and they’d have to wonder what it is I’m hiding.

Though my belief was entirely a shot in the dark, I seem to have struck true, as Arridy nods his head in understanding before turning the way he came. His hulking body sways side to side, like the rocking of a cradle or the bending of a tree in high winds. Despite his meandering steps, he covers distance fast, leaving me in the dust as I follow behind, quickly trying to catch up with him. Slender legs forming even strides, my shoulders straight and nose pointed high, I’m the spitting image of a self-important tenet, not an ounce of hesitation to be found. The gentle smile I wear never once leaves my lips, and soon I entirely forget I’m even forcing an expression. As I walk beside him, my eyes unconsciously begin to collect information, and I form a profile on Arridy entirely by habit.

It’s hard to get a read on Arridy’s actual body type. In the overhead light all I can say is that he’s overbearingly large, nearing 6’ 5”. He towers over my shorter stature, meaning I have no other option but to look up, almost craning my neck to look him in the eyes. His limbs are the width of logs, squeezing out of his already gigantic uniform in bulges as hard as rock. The outfit he’s somehow managed to squeeze into is the same style as Cat’s, a dark blue that matches the glow of the surrounding lights. The only additional accessory that Arridy has is the addition of the tiny, can-like hat that he has placed atop his head, bouncing with every lunging step. Arridy’s torso is by far the largest part of him, even longer than his thick and powerful legs. His stomach and chest are as round as a beachball, yet his flesh appears to be as solid as a rock, never once jiggling with the sign of excess fat.

Out of all of Arridy’s features however, his face is his most defining. Added to his large, box-like head, the entire composition of his face radiates a lack of intelligence. If I were to compare his looks to anything, it would be a toad. His large, bulbous eyes are glazed over and dark, leaving me wondering how they haven’t popped out of their sockets yet. His abstract, rigid nose is like a rock that grew greedy, taking possession of half of his face, shifting any onlooker's attention away from his thin, almost pencil-drawn mouth. His greasy, shortly cut hair makes no effort to conceal his obnoxious, monkey-like ears, of which the lobes hang low. Truly, he’s a specimen to appraise.

We make our way down the long corridor in silence, the ash gray walls trapping us within their confines, masked with framed paintings reminiscent of those found in an art gallery, the wide variety of styles displaying clear skill on the artist’s part. Golden name-plates hang beneath each painting, the painter credited on the engraved faces of the plaques, a clear sign of the hotel’s extravagance. The engraved names are none I recognise, which is hardly surprising considering I needed to be told my own name. Still, I have to wonder as to whether these paintings were created within the confines of this hotel, during the artist's stay. I’m curious as to whether any of the creators are still staying here.

One name I notice quite frequently, a painter that seems to specialize in landscape paintings, going by their rather remarkable works presenting worlds I’d only be able to see within my dreams, is a stranger by the name of “Xin”. I make an effort to memorize the rather strange name, faintly hoping that I’ll meet the person at some point in the future.

The hallway abruptly ends, opening up into a large space that spreads out before me, sparsely decorated with a few more paintings, as well as some unremarkable sofas and tables. On the wall opposing the hallway are two staircases, winding back and forth in an incessant rhythm and pattern. Sandwiched between the two staircases are two elevators, both a bright silver that seems to glow in mute luminescence, shimmering in a gray reminiscent of liquid mercury. As I take in my surroundings with a dull gaze, I hear Arridy let out a low groan, a sound half sigh half moan.

“Mmm…”

He staggers over to the leftmost elevator with heavy steps, his thunderous footfalls echoing upwards into the gaping abyss that the stairs expose. The noise disappears, as if swallowed within the endless blackness, the entwining stairs following, climbing each level higher and higher as they fade from sight. I can’t help but feel a spike of apprehension at the thought of exploring that cavernous darkness, at the thought of happily adventuring within that hungry gloom. But I have no choice, I must continue onwards.

Arridy presses a small button glowing a yellow light with an arrow pointing up, the only button on the leftmost panel. Immediately after, as if it had been waiting for us, the mercury doors silently slide open, the usual ding completely absent for some reason. As if he didn’t notice the lack of notification, or perhaps he really was unaware, Arridy steps through the open doors. Briefly I wonder whether the small box can even carry such weight, but I quickly ignore that line of thinking as I follow him inside, turning around to face the closing doors promptly after. As I’m slowly entombed with the man, I suddenly feel a great unease overtake my body, locking my mind on a single path of paranoia.

Faced with the understanding that I have no way to escape this cage and that millions of tragedies could potentially occur in such a small space, I find myself sweating bullets, wariness and agitation blocking my airway, slowly suffocating me in fear. Feeling the stickiness of my hair clinging wetly to my forehead, I try to stifle my emotions, but to little avail. Outwards, I maintain the same controlled persona of power and authority, the cold smile I have plastered across my lips never once wavering, but inside, I’m drowning in a sea of worry, with no hope in sight.

Desperately I force a distraction upon my fraying mind, tearing my eyes away from the hulking figure next to me, and instead directing them to the tall control panel with glowing buttons and black floor numbers covering every inch. I’m shocked to discover how many floors there actually are, in columns of four, all the way up to 35 rows. I read the final button, ‘140’. One hundred and forty floors, with many rooms on them, every room filled with a stranger, a potential enemy. Now it fully dawns on me how lost I am. I’m trapped in the unknown, surrounded on all sides by irregularities. I have no idea why I’m here, nor how I got here. All I know is that I’m meant to be here, that I’m expected here. The unknown is the enemy of knowledge.

I watch, almost in slow motion as the button marked 14 is pushed by the large rod that is Arridy’s finger, the thick digit pressing roughly, nearly poking several other buttons in the process. Suddenly a weightless feeling overtakes my body, the elevator following the command almost immediately. Up and up, I watch the number climb on the screen above the door, the buttons flashing yellow whenever we pass a floor, though never once pausing. The only instance of unnatural happenings over the course of the trip was when we were passing the 13th floor and the lights had flickered, the box carrying us sagging a little, as if reluctant to leave the floor.

Nothing else happened after that however, so at present I can only blame the strange event as a mechanical error.

Without fanfare, the doors slide open, welcoming me into a new world. A refreshing smell, reminiscent of naturally grown flowers or perhaps a new car, wafts into my nose, the distinct freshness tripping some weird fragmentary memory that leaves me in a quiet moment of gentle calmness. I can’t quite place where I smelled such a scent, the scent of freshly picked flowers. I can only say that the experience was far from unpleasant, seeing as how the fear that previously trapped me has all but vanished. Before I can embrace the illusion and investigate the sensation deeper, Arridy lurches out of the elevator, dragging me out of the murky depths of my mind. With no choice but to discard my forgotten familiarity, I hesitantly chase after, even stride only slightly clipped.

The hallway is dim, that same solemn quiet that filled the lobby composing this space as well. There is a deep stillness surrounding me, giving me the impression that nothing has ever moved in these halls, that nothing ever will. The chilled air summons forth goosebumps that assault my bare arms, coating my skin. The same icy air sinks into my nose, calming my beating heart with it’s perfumed scent, tricking me into believing that this frozen world is in fact pleasant. How strange that I can find no source of the smell.

Lining the hallway are onyx walls, broken intermittently by the appearance of solid white doors. The light that pours from the ceiling, a ceiling with no visible light source, reflects valiantly against the checkered floor of white and black wood, giving me the impression that I’m trapped at the bottom of an ocean with no way to scream.

Two pairs of footsteps shatter that silence like a mirror, the shards of glass reverberating down the unending hallway of shadow. One pair is heavy, leaving behind powerful echoes that stumble and twist, never really balancing out in the end. The second pair I hear bouncing back at me are light and refined, a methodical rhythm like the ticking of a clock, as assured as tomorrow, carrying boundless confidence. The two opposing sounds contrast in their amplification and weight, yet they both seem to carry a sense of power and ability, speaking volumes of the characters they originate from.

14-50, the door reads. The golden nameplate, placed in the upper-center of the door, is almost the same as those paired with the paintings back on floor one, the only difference being that these have numbers engraved into their face. Every door we’ve passed has had plates such as these, steadily increasing in number the deeper we venture into this abyss. The room we’ve stopped at is situated directly on the edge of the crossroads, the end of the hallway that splits into a plus sign, all pathways vanishing into the blackness.

From outward appearance alone this room is no different from its neighbors, no different from the other 49 rooms we’ve passed, but I feel a great significance bearing down on me when I lay my eyes on the bone-white door… Surely it must be because this room is my home for the indefinite future, a potential sanctuary to guard me from the blackened world around me.

With a grunt, Arridy reaches his meaty paws into his pockets, his sausage-like fingers gingerly withdrawing a bare keycard, the only markings being the room number inscribed into its front. When compared to Arridy’s hand the card seems pitifully small, as does my own hand as I sweetly accept the outstretched offering, staring gratefully into the bulging eyes that warily observe my actions.

“Thank you, Mr. Arridy! Your help is very much appreciated.”

With a fluttering smile and tender eyes I withdraw my oppressive persona and replace it with one of kinship, unhesitantly saying the lines I’ve been choosing over the course of this trip of ours. I truly do feel grateful. Despite my distrust of the man, I am happy that such a quiet individual guided me. His dullness made covering my fear all the easier, and I almost find that stupid side of him endearing, as if he’s a puppy hoping to be pat.

Perhaps charming him was the correct choice, as the man looks away abashedly, crimson heat obviously spreading across his face despite the dim lighting. His bark-like nails bashfully scratch his cheek, and he gives me a twisted, shy smile and a bob of his head, his little hat bouncing with his movements. Immediately after he turns around and flees to the elevator, his stumbling sway considerably faster than before.

Noticing the increased speed in Arridy’s movement, I grow wary. Is his heightened movement a reflection of his embarrassment, or is it for something else? The rule that spoke of being outside after 3 AM flashes through my mind and I hurriedly press my card against the lock on the door, a pit of unease once again growing in my stomach. In the far corner of my mind, I wish Arridy safe passage, hoping that I’ll eventually be able to cash out on the kindness I’ve shown him today. Following my actions, the lock flashes green, drawing my eyes. Sucking in a breath, I push open the door.