---
> [Simulation 16 initiated. Subject: Trey O'Malley. Scenario: The Endless Hallway. Location: St. Dymphna Asylum.]
---
A distant **drip, drip, drip** echoed in the corridor.
Trey stood in a dimly lit hallway lined with closed doors. The air was thick with antiseptic, yet beneath it lingered the sharp metallic scent of **blood**.
Something felt… **wrong**.
The lights overhead buzzed, flickering erratically. The hallway stretched endlessly, each door identical—gray, unmarked, with a small square window smeared with something dark.
A sign on the wall read: **"DO NOT OPEN THE LAST DOOR."**
His pulse quickened. He turned to look behind him—only **more hallway**. No entrance, no exit. Just an infinite stretch of doors and darkness.
Then—
A knock.
Soft. Barely audible.
It came from the first door to his right.
Trey stepped closer, peering through the window. Inside, a man sat in a chair, **staring directly at him**.
His mouth was sewn shut.
Trey stumbled back.
Another knock—this time from a door farther down.
Then another. And another.
The knocks multiplied, spreading across the hallway. A frantic **chorus of tapping**, fists banging against wood. Whispers slithered through the cracks:
*"Let us out."*
*"He's waiting."*
*"The last door. The last door."*
Trey's breathing grew ragged. His gut screamed **don't do it**, but his feet carried him forward.
**The last door stood at the very end.**
Unlike the others, it was **open.**
He reached it hesitantly, peering inside.
A single figure stood in the room—a tall, faceless **doctor**, dressed in a white coat stained deep red. His gloved hands were clasped behind his back.
The doctor tilted his head, as if acknowledging Trey's presence.
Then, slowly, he stepped aside.
Behind him sat **Trey himself**, strapped to a chair, eyes wide in terror. A medical chart was clipped to the bedframe. Trey's gaze darted to the notes:
**"Subject: Trey O'Malley."**
**"Diagnosis: Severe Reality Dissociation."**
**"Prescribed Treatment: Release from illusion."**
Trey shook his head. "No… No, this isn't real—"
The doctor reached into his coat and pulled out a **scalpel**.
The strapped-down Trey thrashed, screaming through the gag in his mouth. The doctor turned to Trey—the **standing** one—and **offered him the scalpel.**
"End the illusion," a voice whispered from the walls.
Trey felt something shift in his mind. Memories—real, fake, distorted—**they all blurred together**. Was he truly in a simulation? Or had he **always** been here, locked away, hallucinating worlds that never existed?
His fingers curled around the scalpel.
The strapped-down Trey **stared at him, pleading**.
Trey swallowed hard.
He raised the blade.
And **stabbed.**
----
> [SIMULATION OVER.]
> [System notice: Subject experiencing instability. Applying correction protocol...]
> [Proceeding to next scenario.]
---