Pick a Door

It's been 100 hours since you last slept. A huge milestone, but you're done. You can't keep doing this.

The only rest you get now are those brief moments where your body shuts down against a wall, only to jolt awake as you start to fall. Even closing you eyes for a second doesn't help anymore.

Everything feels wrong.

The world looks... misaligned. It's slightly off from where it should be. Your vision wobbles. Your eyes burn and won't stop tearing up.

You don't think you can stay awake any longer, yet you don't want to go to sleep. You're afraid of it.

For the past year, every dream has been some God-forsaken hellscape where there's just enough to survive. Food. Water. Shelter... But that's not the issue. All the injuries you got during those dreams returned with your consciousness to reality. Claw marks on your back, aching eyes from staring at a non-existent sun, malnourishment from dreaming of crossing a desert...

And it finally crossed your mind. What if one day you dream of hell with no way to escape it? **** to swim in lava, chased by demons...

You take a deep breath to calm the horror brought by those thoughts, finding more conviction to deny your body of rest. After a quick scan of your room, you take a seat on the chair by your desk and try to lean onto the desk. Maybe that'll help in some way.

There's a severe lack of feedback from the desk, but you've also hallucinated a few times, so that's not too unusual. You rest more weight on it, and it feels as if you're stepping into a deep hole. Your body fights instinctively to regain balance.

You understand at a glance.

Even as sleep-deprived as you are, your eyes go wide as your hand slips into the solid desk with no resistance.

?̶͙̳͎͇̘̻͉̤͚͍͈̬͌̎ͅͅ ̶̨̧̫̠̘͚͕̮͇̟̟̄̃̾̈́̆̔̋́̆̀̉͜͠?̷̨̧̠̤̜̺̬̓̉͂̽̽̅͊̊̿̿ ̷̡̨̣̙̮̪̺̠̦͓̳͈̯͈̓̐͋̿̑̓̚̚͝͠?̷̈͂̈́ͅ ̴̧̱̤̪̩͔̩̹͚̒̇̔͂͆͌̔̃͠?̸̢͇̣͇̼͎͚̙͙̭̍̒́̀͗̿̾̓̓̚̕ ̷̡̲̪̮̗̮̅?̴̲͉̻̄

You panic.

You're still awake.

The room f̸̳̪͔͔͉͔̹̝̳͕̠̜̍r̶̭̙̲̃̎̈́̌̾͊͒̇̃̒̄̆͗͘̕ͅą̸̳̗̣̥͑̀́́̽͂̃̈́͊́͝͝͠c̶̢̢̤͎̫̹̠͕̫͉͚͐̆ţ̶͉̗̠̹̤̼̼͐͂̎̐̀̈́̔̚͝ù̸̢̙ͅŕ̵̨̛̈̏̃̈e̴̢̛̪̞̠̤̫̜͓̗͍̓̈̅̈́̓̀͝͝s̵̢̨̤̫͚͔̘̮̗̱̥̱͕͔̈́̌̓̆̋̆̓͊́͜͝.

What was solid a moment ago collapses into something incomprehensible... They're g̸̮̪̈̂̿̈́͐̊͑̋͑l̷̨̧̫̻̜̟̗̣̜̜͇̆̉͗͑͊̌̅̆̋̃̌̈̚͠͝i̵̠͕̟̣͖̥̐̓͗̔͌͆̇͐̆̈́̈́̐͌̓̕t̶̬͚͙͚̭̺̪̻̰͚̭̰̿̀͐͆̅͆̊̎̆̿͋̈͊͝͠c̸̢̡̭͉̼̹̘̪̼͛̿̏̋͆̈́͜ͅh̵̛̺̠̾́̂̒̂͒̎͝í̶̢͔̟̠̙̞̺̠̰͖͖̿̈̈́͋͘ͅͅn̷̟̬͂̽̈̏͊̈́̀̒̆̎̓̓͜͝g̶̡̨͈̭̝̥͒́͆̀̀͗͘̕ͅͅ, ŝ̴͔̝͎̞͈̞͋͋̾̏̈́̍̈́̅̅́͝͝ļ̴̧̖̼̭̬̀̍̄ͅi̵̗͔̟̥͖̯̻̝͉̒̂͊̔͒̅͒̄͗͋͜͠p̷̨̧͈̠̼̥̹̝͒̑ͅp̸̼̯̖̀̐ī̴͙̦̥͎̟̲̺̘͍̞̄̔͌̍̔͘͝n̵̬͖̯͉͙͂g̸̟̣̠̰͎͋̈́̉́̀̊̎̂̾̈́͋̒̉̎͜͠, and p̸̮͇̤̖̣͇̌̅͒̅̑̑̊̎̒̏̒͒̿̕͝ḧ̴̘̞̤̮̣̪̗̭̝͕̖͓̞̰ͅa̷̛͙͔̦͎̘̙̣̳̠̹͉͇̲̋̾͐̎̌̐̽͒͝ͅś̶̯̾̎̑͐̿̐̐͐̀̄̀̅̚͠i̸͙͊͌̄̎͋̈́̉̊̚ń̸̙͎̦͚͎͇̮̪͓͙͇̘̺̈́̾̾̇̉͝ģ̸̨̧̣͇̰͖̠͎̮̗̈́̃̋͐ out of existence. Furniture d̷̹̜̫͈͇͓͓̘̐̈͂̈́̎̇̓͝į̸̡̡͕̫͍͎͓̺̲͎̣̝̈́͛͜͠s̵̩̜̓͆̇̍̈́͗͘͘͝t̷͖͎̤̐͆́̔̄̕ő̶̢͖̺̞̗̰̝̥̪̝̬̈́̉̊̽͗̈́̍̈́͜r̵͕̼̬͉̯̬̮̪̠̞̂̔͑̓̿̄̌̏̈́͘͜t̴͉͕̰̺̳̙̐̀͗̏̎͛s̶̡̢̛̗̹̳̗̜̯͇͉̳͍̾̆̈́́̀̃̎̽ͅ and vanishes piece by piece. The paint peels from the walls, drifting away before sinking into surfaces that no longer seem solid.

Your chair goes with it, and so does the door. They're no longer there, dropping beyond the realm of the floor that catches you.

Everything vanishes in a matter of seconds, leaving only the room itself, at this point more accurate to call it a pristine prison. The ceiling, the walls. It's all white.

Then, your exhaustion disappears. You feel refreshed, the strength those previous hours had drained fully replenished. You doubt whether you truly are awake anymore and begin to dread what might be coming next.

...

Moments later, you hear a distant hum, slowly approaching whenever it groans its deep tune.

The room trembles, pulsing as if alive, and soon, the hum growls within the confinement of the prison, dark spots tearing up the fabric of space in front of you.

The hum... It's a voice.

S̴̡̠͖̜̣͇͕̼̖̗̣̈͑̈é̴̢̲̬͕͈̩͓͍̱̯̱̎̀̃̅̎͆̀̐́̅͠l̶̠̎̊̈́̀́̑̏̏͆̈͘̚͘e̴̛̦̱̙̜̟̖̦̥̫̓̊̋͌̚c̵͋͆̀͒͋͗̿̽̽͝ͅt̶̢̛̳̞̠̖̝̰̳̬̪̐̍̓̆͗̏̑̈̀͝

It's inside your head.

P̸̛̛͖͎̳̘̃̅͑̐̈́̕į̵̨͚͓̺̣̭̪̗͚̞̥̰̮͍͊̏̏͂̆̄͊̄͊̋̐̚ḉ̷̩͕̜̦͍̜̜͎͉̗͖̩̿̎̑͗͜ͅk̷̘̻̦̝̣̍͌̎

You hear a voice inside your head, urging you...

Contributor Rules:

1. Your first chapter must branch into at least two paths.
These don't have to be literal doors. Use anything: slides, pits, dice rolls, games, entities, etc. Just keep it in the format of a clear choice.

2. Each path must introduce its own dimension.
Within that path's chapter, include:

• A nickname/title for the dimension
• An amount of time the reader must survive inside or a task that must be fulfilled in order to escape
• A brief introduction to it
• A set of rules tied to it
  These rules can be strict or minimal, and the reader may choose to follow them, or not. You can make them lax and turn the dimension into some alien brothel buffet if you don't want to further branch.
  Otherwise, rules should matter. Breaking them should lead to consequences, like being at the s̶e̶x̶u̶a̶l̶ mercy of your eldritch horror, new situations, or further choices.

3. Keep paths self-contained. Do not write inside someone else's story unless they give permission.
If you want your path to be open for others to continue, add [Group] after your author name.

4. Naming format for first chapters:
Use: [Choose a ...]
If a name is already taken, use numbering:

• [Select a Door - 2]
• [Pick a Path - 3]

You may optionally include:

• A hint of the choices: (Red / Blue / Green)

• Your name

  Examples:

• [Select a Door - 5 (Red / Blue / Green) - Author]
• [Pick a Path - 2 (Dirt / Gravel) - Author [Group]]

5. All fetishes are allowed.

Have fun ❤︎