Blood. There was so much blood. He felt the wetness lapping against his feet. He felt it drip from the ceiling. He didn't know that a person could contain so much of it. Something within him twisted and finally broke. Its not like he wanted to do it. He had no choice. That was what he would say to himself. It was the only thing he could do. He stared down at his hands. Once again that slick crimson was revealed to him. A distinct chime sounded and speakers thrummed, "29 more to go." The voice was female, stale, and utterly emotionless as if she was merely stating some boring trivia. He remembered why he was here, covered in blood. The corpse lying in front of him stared. Her unmoving eyes seem to mirror his own. He was in some kind of death game. A sick twisted game concocted by monsters. He tried to remember further. His head pulsed with pain. He was drugged at some point. He finally noticed his hands were not only bloody, but was holding something. It was a combat knife soaked with the now familiar color. The room seemed so small. So red. So utterly silent except for his rapidly increasing heart. He felt a sharp pain and a pressure. He looked down. A long slender blade was protruding from his chest. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry. There was so much he wanted to do. He could not see light. There was no flashback. The pressure was quickly relieved and he fell and twisted. A figure stood above him with a doorway bordering it. He remembered. The woman was surprised when he opened the door. He panicked and stabbed her over and over. Perhaps he truly was just as the despicable monsters that created this game. Blood gurgled from his mouth as he tried to voice some kind of last words. It was pointless. The room finally dimmed. The artificial lights seemed like distant stars. The distinct chime was heard again, followed by that familiar message, "28 more to go." The figure seemed to be whistling, skipping across the hard concrete like a kid. It was swinging the long blade with it's wrists as if jumping rope. There was a mask on top of it's face. The mask had no features. It was utterly blank white except for the blood splatter. For now it was only specked with blood. Be prepared to kill or be killed within this shifting concrete labyrinth with a multitude of death traps and vicious weaponry. Respite will be few. Death lurks at every corner. Gather what aid you can through tools or even allies. But beware the knife in the back, the slit throat, or the poisoned needle. You have no friends, only future enemies. Be merry, be content, for you shall etch the souls of other's within your eyes and bathe yourself in their lifeblood. Welcome to the precipice of your life. Welcome to Death's Door. We'll be waiting for you to cross.