Chapter 4:A Breakfast Horror
1251 Words
Dorian sat frozen at the breakfast table, staring at the lifeless body beside him. The patient had slumped face-first into his bowl of porridge, blood mixing with the untouched food. His eyes, once filled with dull resignation, were now wide and glassy, his mouth slightly ajar as if trying to form one last, unheard word.
The cafeteria was silent, except for the faint scraping of metal trays and utensils. Not a single person moved to help. The other patients continued eating in eerie silence, as though nothing had happened.
Dorian felt the overwhelming urge to stand up, to shout for help. But the warning on the back of the slip of paper burned in his mind: “If you see someone dying, ignore it. Stay quiet, or face the consequences.”
Could this really be happening? Was this another one of the dimension’s twisted traps, forcing him to choose between saving a life and his own survival?
He clenched his fists under the table, his heart pounding in his chest. Every fiber of his being screamed to act, but the cold logic of survival overruled his instincts. He had seen what happened to those who broke the rules—he had already died too many times to gamble with his own life again.
Suddenly, the patient across from him shot Dorian a sharp, warning look and tapped his finger on his lips—a silent reminder. Don’t speak. Don’t draw attention.
Dorian swallowed hard, his throat dry. He was no hero here. He had to play by the rules if he wanted to survive. Forcing himself to stay calm, he averted his gaze from the body beside him and resumed eating, his hands trembling slightly as he lifted the spoon to his mouth.
Back in Drakenia, the expert team was watching the live feed with grim expressions. The room was tense, filled with the low hum of electronic equipment and the muffled sounds of their anxious whispers.
"That patient just collapsed," one of the analysts muttered, his eyes glued to the screen. "Dorian could be next."
“Why doesn’t he help?” another expert asked, his voice laced with frustration. “Can’t he see the man is dying?”
“He can’t,” the team leader replied, his tone somber. “The dimension’s rules are clear—intervene, and you die.”
“So he’s just supposed to sit there and watch someone die?”
The leader’s gaze remained fixed on the screen. “Yes. It’s a cruel trap. The Haunting Dimension forces them to choose between their humanity and their survival.”
Dorian stared down at his tray, each bite of food tasteless and cold. His mind was racing, trying to piece together the nightmare unfolding around him. The rules were meant to break him—forcing him into impossible choices where both options led to death.
In front of him, the pig-masked chef stood silently behind the counter, his eyes hidden behind hollow sockets. The kitchen staff made no move to assist the fallen patient. They didn’t even acknowledge his presence.
Dorian forced himself to finish his meal, his every sense alert to the silence surrounding him. He couldn’t break the rules. Not here. Not now.
But just as he stood to leave, something caught his eye—the dying man’s hand. It twitched, just barely, as if summoning what little life remained to ask for help.
What do I do?
The back of the slip of paper flashed in his mind again. “If you see someone dying, ignore it. Stay quiet, or face the consequences.”
But then, his thoughts shifted to the blood-written warning from the back of another note: “If you don’t help, are you really human?”
Dorian froze. Another contradiction. The rules were tearing him apart—one warning told him to stay silent, while another urged him to act. But which one was the truth?
Was this the hospital’s way of manipulating him, forcing him into a no-win situation? Or was there a hidden path, a third option he hadn’t yet uncovered?
His mind raced as he analyzed the situation. Could both rules be correct—but in different circumstances? The hospital’s “official” rules might apply when staff were watching, but the blood-written warnings could be the key to what he needed to do when they weren’t.
Dorian glanced around. The pig-masked chef remained still, his hollow eyes seemingly bored. The kitchen staff didn’t seem to notice the dying man at all.
Could this be the moment to act?
With a racing heart, Dorian carefully pulled the slip of paper from his pocket, keeping it out of sight. He remembered something from one of the simulations—he didn’t have to scream for help. He didn’t have to draw attention. He just had to get someone else to notice the dying man.
His mind made up, Dorian slowly rose from his seat. He moved to the table behind him, where a doctor sat, his face hidden behind the familiar bird mask. The doctor paid no attention to anything but his food, but Dorian knew this was his chance.
He approached the doctor, hesitating for a split second. Then, without a word, Dorian gently tapped the doctor’s shoulder and gestured subtly toward the collapsed patient.
The doctor’s masked face turned, following Dorian’s gesture. For a moment, he stared at the motionless body, then calmly rose from his seat. Without speaking, he walked over to the fallen patient and examined him with cold detachment.
The other patients remained silent, heads bowed over their meals. No one dared look up.
The doctor nodded, then waved to a nearby nurse. Together, they lifted the man’s limp body onto a stretcher and wheeled him out of the cafeteria. The entire exchange happened in eerie silence, as if it were just another routine event.
Dorian released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He had followed the rules. He hadn’t screamed. He hadn’t caused a disruption. But he had found a way to act—quietly, carefully. And he hadn’t been punished.
The rules, he realized, weren’t just traps. There were ways around them, ways to survive without becoming a monster.
Back in Drakenia, the expert team erupted into murmurs of approval.
“He did it,” one of them said, impressed. “He figured out how to help without breaking the rules.”
The team leader nodded, his eyes never leaving the screen. “He’s learning. But this is just the beginning. The Haunting Dimension won’t make things easy from here.”
Dorian sat back down at his table, his mind racing. He had barely escaped death this time, but there were still so many unanswered questions. How many more contradictions would he face before this nightmare was over? And how long could he keep outwitting the dimension’s twisted rules?
His heart pounded as he thought about the next move. There was no room for error. One wrong step, one misunderstanding, and it would all be over.
But for now, he had survived.
As the cafeteria doors opened and the other patients filed out, Dorian spotted something just beyond the threshold. A small piece of paper, crumpled and half-hidden beneath a nearby chair.
His pulse quickened. Another clue?
He carefully retrieved the slip, smoothing it out in his hands. Scrawled in faint, red-tinged ink was another cryptic warning:
“When you hear the dogs howl, it’s already too late.”
- Writer
