Endless Simulations: Survival in the Eerie Space

Chapter 5:The Howling of the Dogs

Dorian stood frozen, staring at the crumpled slip of paper in his hand. The ink was faint, tinged with a reddish hue, as though it had been scrawled in blood. The message was short, but it sent a chill down his spine:

“When you hear the dogs howl, it’s already too late.”

He read it over and over, trying to make sense of it. There was that dog again—the one he had been hearing since he arrived. Its faint barks echoed through the corridors, always just out of sight. It was a sound that no one else seemed to acknowledge, not the nurses, not the doctors, not the other patients.

And now this new warning. What did it mean? What was supposed to happen when the dogs howled?

The slip of paper crumpled in his fist as a sense of unease settled over him. He had already learned that the Haunting Dimension was a web of contradictions—following the rules led to survival, but the truth often lay hidden in the warnings scrawled in blood. Both had to be followed, but knowing when to listen to each one was the key to staying alive.

Dorian pocketed the note, glancing around the now-empty cafeteria. The pig-masked chef had retreated back into the kitchen, and the rest of the patients had already shuffled out to the next part of their day.

He couldn’t shake the growing feeling that time was running out.

Back in Drakenia, the tension in the observation room was palpable. The group of experts watched the live feed, their gazes sharp, analyzing every move Dorian made. They had seen him retrieve the note, but they could only guess at its contents.

“He’s found another clue,” one of the analysts murmured.

“But what does it say?” another expert asked, squinting at the screen.

“It doesn’t matter what it says,” the team leader interjected, his voice steady. “What matters is that he’s learning to navigate the rules. He’s starting to understand how this place works.”

“But how much longer can he keep going like this? The mortality rate for adventurers is skyrocketing. He might be the last one left from Drakenia, but there are still others out there. And they’re failing.”

The leader’s eyes darkened as he nodded grimly. “We can’t afford to lose him. Not now.”

Dorian made his way down the hospital’s cold, sterile hallway, his mind churning through the information he had so far. He had survived the breakfast trap by keeping quiet, following the official rules but bending them just enough to help the dying patient. That meant there were ways to survive this nightmare without being completely passive—there were gaps in the dimension’s control, places where its grasp weakened.

But what about the dog? Why was he the only one who could hear it? And why had the note warned him about howling?

He hadn’t heard howling—just barking, soft and distant. The memory of the dog’s bark echoed faintly in his ears. Was it a warning, or something else entirely?

As he pondered this, the hospital’s loudspeaker crackled to life, jolting him from his thoughts.

“Patients, please proceed to the treatment rooms,” the mechanical voice announced. “The next session will begin shortly.”

Dorian felt a knot of anxiety tighten in his chest. The treatment rooms. He hadn’t been there yet, but he had a sinking feeling that whatever was waiting for him would be far worse than anything he had encountered so far.

He followed the stream of patients down the hall, his mind racing. He couldn’t rely on his instincts alone this time. He needed to plan, to anticipate what might happen next.

The treatment room was a nightmare. Rows of cold, metal treatment pods lined the walls, each resembling a coffin with transparent lids. Dorian’s stomach twisted at the sight of them. This was no ordinary hospital. This was a prison, and these pods were designed for something far darker than mere medical treatment.

The nurses, their faces hidden behind bird-like masks, ushered the patients into the pods, one by one. Dorian watched as the lids closed, sealing each patient inside. Some patients looked terrified, while others seemed resigned, their eyes hollow and lifeless.

Dorian’s heart pounded as a nurse gestured for him to enter one of the pods. His mind screamed at him to run, but he knew there was no escape—not yet. He had to see this through.

He climbed into the pod, his hands trembling as he lay down. The lid slowly descended, and with a soft hiss, it sealed him inside. His breath fogged up the glass as he stared at the ceiling, his mind racing.

What now? What was going to happen?

(Simulation Start!)(You’re lying in the treatment pod. You feel the walls closing in around you.)(The pod is tight, suffocating, but you keep calm. You’ve been through worse.)(You hear a faint humming sound. It’s coming from the machinery around the pod, and you realize it’s starting to activate.)(You close your eyes, preparing for the worst.)(Suddenly, you hear something—footsteps, slow and deliberate.)(You open your eyes just in time to see a group of figures walking past the treatment room’s glass window. They’re tall, their heads resembling that of a stag or a deer, adorned with antlers.)(They’re not human.)(They’re accompanied by two other figures wearing pig masks, similar to the chef from the cafeteria.)(The stag-headed creatures pause in front of each treatment pod, looking through the glass as though they’re inspecting the patients.)(One of them stops at your pod. Its dark eyes lock onto yours.)(You try to remain calm, but your heart is racing. The creature tilts its head, studying you.)(It points a finger at you.)(The nurse rushes to your pod and opens it.)“Congratulations,” the nurse says coldly.)(You’re pulled out of the pod, your body numb with fear.)(The stag-headed figure gestures for you to follow.)(You hesitate, but you have no choice. You follow the creature as it leads you out of the room.)(Suddenly, your body starts to change. You feel your skin crawling, your bones shifting. Black fur begins to sprout from your arms.)(You try to scream, but only a howl escapes your lips—a terrible, inhuman sound.)(You’ve become a monster.)(You’re no longer human.)(You die.)

Dorian jolted out of the simulation, his heart hammering in his chest. Again. He had died again. The simulation had shown him another path to failure—being chosen by the stag-headed creatures, becoming one of them. But what had triggered it? Why had the creature chosen him?

He wiped the sweat from his brow, trying to steady his breathing. There had to be a way to avoid being noticed by those creatures. He couldn’t afford to be chosen again.

Mental energy: 20/50. He only had two more chances to figure this out.

Dorian forced himself to stay calm as the pod began to hum with activity, just as it had in the simulation. He closed his eyes, focusing on the sound, the rhythm of the machines. The footsteps echoed again, just like before.

Don’t panic. Think.

The creatures—the stag-headed monsters—were selecting patients. But how did they choose? In the simulation, it seemed random, but there had to be a pattern. Something he did, or didn’t do, had made him stand out.

He had to figure it out before they reached his pod.

The footsteps grew louder. He could sense them moving through the room, stopping at each pod, inspecting the patients inside.

Then, a memory flickered in his mind—something from one of his earlier simulations. The notes. The warnings. The hospital’s rules weren’t always about what you did—they were often about what you didn’t do. Maybe this was another one of those moments.

He had to stay invisible.

Dorian slowed his breathing, keeping his eyes closed. He didn’t move, didn’t react. He was just another patient in the pod, nothing special. Nothing to draw attention.

The footsteps passed his pod. The creatures moved on.

He held his breath, his heart pounding in his ears. He waited until the footsteps faded completely before he dared to open his eyes.

They hadn’t chosen him.

Back in Drakenia, the experts leaned forward in their seats, their eyes glued to the screen.

“He’s doing it,” one of them whispered. “He’s staying calm.”

“If he can make it through the treatment session without being noticed, he might just survive,” another added.

But the team leader’s face was grim. He knew the Haunting Dimension wasn’t done with Dorian yet.

The treatment pod hummed again as Dorian’s heart rate slowly returned to normal. He had avoided being chosen—for now.

But as the pod opened and the nurse gestured for him to leave, Dorian couldn’t shake the feeling that something worse was coming.

The next step in this nightmare was waiting for him, just around the corner.

And then, faintly, he heard it. A sound that sent a chill down his spine.

The distant howl of a dog.