Thumping noises reverberate through the narrow shaft, their echoes subdued by the rush of wind. The steel structure groans and bends, mimicking the anguished cries of a dying creature with each movement of an outstretched forearm. The silence of the surroundings amplifies the pounding of one's racing heartbeat, and the absence of intrusive sounds seems momentarily tranquil. But the stagnant confinement of the shaft, as constricting as a human torso, can induce a creeping sense of madness akin to a suffocating desert.

     Alone in the crawl space, Cal inches forward, his body dragging as he propels himself with his forearms. Beads of sweat trickle down his forehead, tracing a path to his nose. The damp fabric clinging to his back irritates him, causing his eyebrows to furrow and his lips to tighten in frustration.

     Yet, Cal persists, continuing his arduous crawl. He moves onward, navigating the seemingly endless ventilation shaft like a solitary slithering serpent in the shadows. Despite his steady efforts, Cal fails to locate a vent hole where a ray of light might penetrate. The walls surround him, limiting him within the tight space, forcing him to bow his head and compress his body. Cal pants and grumbles, his groans lost in the perpetual passage.

     The once sleek walls of the ventilation shaft have taken on a mossy green hue, specks of fungal debris dancing in the air. Some sections retain remnants of their former steel elegance, but now most surfaces bear the corrosive scars of time, resembling tarnished bronze coins. Dust gathers at the bottom of the shaft, settling like a fine layer of soil in an abandoned outdoor park.

     Cal's body finally comes to a long-awaited halt after what feels like an entire day of dragging himself through the ventilation shaft, his aching arms pleading for respite. Before him, two paths reveal themselves, threatening to rend his forearms apart. With only two choices, left or right, Cal stands at a crossroads.

     Cal looks at the path to the right. A straight passage stretches out before him, abruptly veering to the left. After a brief inspection, Cal turns his attention to the left. There, he discovers another route, seemingly endless, curving gradually to the right.

     One last glance at both sides, and Cal closes his eyes. His decision immediately crystallizes, and he resumes his tiring crawl, heading towards the left. Cal alternates between extending his arms forward and dragging his tall frame across the shaft, gasping for air.

     The claustrophobic space restricts Cal's movements, making his back heavy and stiff. Despite the discomfort, Cal groans but pushes past the pain until muffled voices reach his ears, carrying through a vent hole. Desperation fills his widened eyes as he quickens his pace, tirelessly crawling forward, driven by the urgency of the distant conversations.

"This is absolute chaos! It's the eleventh time we've experienced fire outbreaks in this building—in this one building—in just one month! One!"

"It seems like we need to implement stricter safety precautions when it comes to handling and lighting oil lamps properly."

     As Cal continues to crawl forward, the two voices grow increasingly louder. Suddenly, his attention is captured by a beam of light emanating from a vent hole below the shaft walls. Cal swiftly moves closer, his anticipation mounting, until he finally comes to a halt. Cal peeks through the vent's linings, directing his gaze downward, and his eyes immediately lock on two figures inside the room—a senior man and a young adult—engaging in a conversation.

"I suggest we innovate something to replace these hazardous oil lamps."

"I agree! But! But! Developing a complete replacement could take decades! So, I'd rather recommend implementing regular reminders for our employees to handle and place the lamps correctly."

"Or we can do that, sire."

"We'll do that, yes."

     Cal scans the entire room through the small gap in the linings, but nothing excites him. He can only see cabinets with a dozen drawers, a blackboard doodled with chalk, a desk full of paperwork, and a chair. As the senior man finishes speaking, a sensation tenses his muscles and raises his hair. He feels as if a thousand eyes are staring at him. Swiftly, he looks up to the vent on the ceiling, assuming something might be in the dark.

     Surprised, Cal pushes himself back, away from the vent's lining. He hides and gasps, hoping no one sees him lurking, his breath trembling. Cal slowly peeks at the vent's lining and sees the two men resuming their conversation. Without wasting a moment, he moves forward, carefully crossing the vent hole, lifting and placing his arms and legs as steadily and stealthily as possible. Then, he hurries away.

     After a few minutes of navigating through the neverending shaft, Cal spots another vent hole in the ground. He quickly squeezes through the ventilation, hoping to find something valuable that will bring a smile to his face after decades of scorn. Reaching the vent hole, Cal peeks through and scans the room. Immediately, he spots a guard sitting at a desk in the area, with a million keys of different colours and sizes hanging on the shelves.

     The guard pulls his chair away from the desk and stands up. Adjusting the brim of his shako cap, he proceeds to his left and walks away. Then, a door gently slams shut behind him, leaving the room in heavy silence, with no sound cutting through the air.

     After repeating the nail-breaking process for what felt like an eternity, Cal lifted the unlocked vent, allowing access. He deftly slipped his legs through the vent hole while his arms firmly gripped the shaft. With a leap of faith, he descended into the room below.

     Cal strides toward the desk, scanning the shelves as his hands explore each key. His gaze glides up, down, and sideways, searching for the keys he seeks. As he runs his hands along the shelves, he notices the labels on the paper beneath each key, his fingertips gently caressing the surface.

"Cell one-A," Cal read the labels aloud. "Cell B-two. Cell B-three. Cell four-AB..." Clueless about which key he must pick, he slammed his fist on the desk's flat surface. "Damn it! Which one!?" he groaned, his frustration boiling over.

     Cal hovers his hands around the keys, causing them to chime as they swing into each other. The room is filled with millions of keys, glistening in gold and silver, spread across the shelves. Overwhelmed by the sheer number of choices, Cal struggles to decide which keys to take and which to leave behind. He knows time is running out, fearing that the guard or someone else might enter the room and catch him.

     As Cal's fingertips poke and touch each key, a surge of adrenaline courses through his veins, intensifying his rapid heartbeat. The room fills with the sound of his panting, mingling with the violent rhythm of his heart. Panic takes hold, causing sweat to trickle down his face as his brows furrow in distress, his eyes mirroring his inner turmoil.

"Cell five-A. Cell six-A. Cell D-two..."

     Suddenly, Cal's left ear catches the sound of approaching footsteps echoing from the closed door, growing louder with each passing pace. A cold wave of apprehension washes over him, and his heart sinks into a pit of internal despair as he glances at the doorway. He knows it will be the end.