Where the trail ends, the music stops. Where the music stops, life ceases. Survival is the name of the game; not getting caught is the only rule. It's either you complete your mission, or "they" get you, the choice is entirely on your hands.
Every corner you navigate, every turn you make, makes you feel a sense of urgency, a sense of unknowing certainty. Each dead end you come across and each long corridor terrifies you to death but urges you to go on. Fear becomes adrenalin, adrenalin that fuels you to go further. The farther you go, the more dangerous the turns become, the more unpredictable the peril. Insinuating more fear. Restarting the madness.
Urging you. Consuming you.
Until finally, there would be nothing left.
Ghosts of insanity haunt you, taking your life, stealing your breath. Their perceived absence entices you to move forward, their ubiquitous presence drives you back. Running is futile; you know they will get you somehow. But running is all you could do.
Running. For your life.
While the ghosts taunt you and drive you insane.
The game ends once you've gathered all the fragments of your broken self. Each fragment gets you closer to your goal; each piece gets you closer to your final destination. Every once in a while you come upon a shred of your former glorious self, and for a second, you get the urge to fight back. To fight back the ghosts and drive them away; a few minutes of rest to gather back your broken sanity. But once that reprieve is over, you would be driven back.
Back to running. Back to insanity. Back to fear.
Back to the addicting adrenaline that draws you further in.
Deeper and deeper the game calls on to you, drawing forth your very last breath, your very last ounce of strength. It calls on to you. It asks you. It demands you to collect every last fragment, every last shred. And when each one has been collected, each tiny fragment accounted for, the music stops.
And the game starts anew.
This is my life. This is my game. I am...
