This is a bonus chapter, something I've been toying with over the past few weeks. It is a gameplay walkthrough for a popular Martian game, A Dark Room. The game will be referenced later on in A Protracted Game.
The room smells like piss and shit. You haven’t seen the light in some time. The only thing you’ve managed to see in the small ten-by-ten room are shadows and vapors, leaking up from the cracks in the concrete floor.
You’re not alone in the room. You can hear the mutterings of another prisoner. From what you can tell, he’s been here far longer than you have. He keeps talking about the key.
“The key, it’s in our heads,” he screams, jerking against his chains. “All we need to do is to dig it out of our skulls!”
His screams become mutterings and these mutterings quietly fade into half-sobs. You assume he falls asleep sometime after you’ve pissed yourself.
Sleep overcomes you. You feel everything go slack. Your dreams are filled with darkness. Your mind can’t seem to remember those days when you walked in the sunlight and tasted the fresh air as it swept through the trees.
You wake up after what seems like hours. The other prisoner is standing over you. You can’t see him, but you can feel his presence and the smell. His breath is that of someone suffering from severe tooth rot. You can’t help but feel nauseous.
He doesn’t say anything to you. He stands there, hovering over you. The smell of his breath is unbearable.
“I must get the key,” he whispers. “You’re the key to my salvation. I’m so sorry.”
You feel icy cold fingers wrap around your throat. At first, the hands don’t appear to have the strength to do anything, but then you feel their grip grows stronger. There’s a determination there. You feel the darkness growing darker. His breath hits your face. You want to throw up. You want to let him put you out of your misery. You wish that death comes quickly. Then, after a split second, you feel your way towards the man’s throat.
“What are you doing?” he howls in surprise. “I just need the key. It won’t take long. Stop struggling!”
You push against him, pushing him away. He doesn’t move much. His hands keep growing stronger and stronger. A part of you wants to give up. A part of you wants to die, in order to see the sunlight again. Another part, the primal self, claws its way out of the darkness. You feel its heat. Its anger warms your numb hands and sucks in what little air it can get through a closing airway. You hear the man choking. Your hands squeeze—hard with each passing second. His breath is barely noticeable. His hands loosen and slackened completely. You feel yourself throwing him into the concrete. He’s putting up a struggle now. His hands grab at yours. His legs flail and slap the wet concrete.
You feel yourself picking up the man’s head and slamming it down on the wet concrete. You do this several times. Each time a warm spatter of blood hits your face. You can’t help yourself. You want the key as well. You keep smashing the man’s skull into the concrete. Something inside you knows he’s dead. You don’t care. You want to see the sunshine and smell the fresh air. You have to get that key!
A wet snap brings you out of your trance. The man’s head is a pulverized mass of bone, hair, and flesh. You search for the key, but you find nothing. Nothing but blood, brains, and pulverized bone remain behind.
[To Be Continued...]
