I awaken in a room with teal blue peering walls, directly above my head and attach to the

ceiling are two electrical bulbs.

No lampshades, just two bulbs side by side and jutting out from the plaster.

The bulb on the right is switched off, dull and green and lightless.

The bulb on the left is switched on, the light in bright red it hums softly.

As my breathing, it is the room's only sound.

I rub my head and grugly sit up in bed.

If you can even call it a bed, there are no sheets or anything, it's just a rough, flat

mattress.

What the hell, where am I exactly?

Squinting, I turn to look around.

The room is perfectly square.

Its four walls are all that same faint, peeling blue teal, and each of them has a near-identical

door built into it, heavy wood by the looks of them.

And I say near-identical, as only two of these doors are blank.

The other two have words scrolled across them in white paint.

One of them says exit, and the other says exit, the same word, just in all caps.

One white paint, two exits, white too, is one of them fake perhaps.

I blink and peer across the walls, there I dawned with a series of grainy, framed photographs,

they appear to depict oceanic scenes from the bottom of the sea, and many feature colourful

coral reefs.

I notice one that shows a shark, I close my eyes and rub my hands across my face, where

...