As the doors parted, Atlas stepped out into a different room. Unlike the previous one, this one was vibrant with color. Each wall was a different shade of the rainbow. The floor and ceiling showcased a beautiful blue and luscious purple to match. Abstract works, patterns of shapes, and colors with what seemed to be very little symbolic meaning adorned the walls.

No. Not again.

Atlas felt the dread wash over him once more. This was supposed to be his escape. Why was he here? Anguish and anger threatened to break through his resolve. He couldn't let them win. He would have to find another way out.

Taking the first step out of the elevator, he was shocked to discover the floor's rubbery consistency. Each time his foot hit the ground, he bounced ever so slightly. As he made his way across the unsteady and elastic flooring, he was sure to walk carefully and slowly. The slow pace agitated him. It was only impeding his escape.

Atlas headed towards the furthest wall of the room, which was green as grass. An ornate pedestal decorated with various spirals and figures stood slightly offset from the center of the wall. It was already clear to him that escape would not be easy. The elevator had opened last time after he solved some sort of puzzle.

Maybe it was the same: solve the puzzle to move on?

He shook his head in frustration.

"I'd rather not play these games much longer," Atlas vocalized to no one in particular. His voice reverberated through the artwork. He could hear the exasperation in his voice, and with a sigh, went to find the discrepancy.

Visually, the room appeared normal. Ordinary except for the abundance of color. It almost reminded Atlas of an art gallery.

Have I ever been to an art gallery?

As quickly as the thought appeared, it vanished. Atlas blinked as he tried to remember, but he failed. It felt as if his thoughts were being suppressed. He squeezed his eyes shut as if he could will the idea back. His teeth gritted with effort but did not aid him in achieving his goal. The memory was gone. Atlas stomped angrily over to the pedestal he had previously set out towards before his distraction. He quickly went back to work. Escape should be the only thought in his mind, not some silly art gallery. Even so, the memory teased the back of his skull.

Nothing had turned up for Atlas thus far. Just when he was about to give up, he felt a shift in the texture of the floor. The friction lurched his body to a halt, almost causing him to fall. Reaching down, he expected to feel the soft rubber that encased the entire floor but was met with a solid surface. Standing upright, Atlas proceeded to prod the surface with his foot. It sunk in ever so slightly beneath the base level of the floor.

The sudden movement provoked him to pull his foot back. Eyeing the surface suspiciously, he slowly pressed his foot to it once more. The surface yielded again, groaning and scraping against concrete. Getting brave, Atlas put his whole weight on the square surface to test it. Nothing more happened, save for a minute depression in the square where he had forced it down.

I need more weight.

The only heavy object in the room was the pedestal that rested directly beside the sunken surface.

Atlas placed his hands on it. His fingers bit into the stonework. The surface scratched at his arms as he shifted and shimmied the heavy stone carving. Finally, after much effort, it was directly on top of the square. It was a perfect fit. The pedestal fell until its entirety sank about a foot beneath the rest of the floor and stopped.

The creaking concrete had left a cube-shaped hole in its wake. Atlas curiously watched the hole, expecting something to happen. Even expecting it, he was still alarmed when one of the walls of the now-empty hole deposited a small wooden box before closing. It was not unlike the container he had found in the first room; it rested right on top of the pedestal, sitting gently beneath the surface.

Atlas hesitantly reached beneath the floor and took the box. He jerked his hand and the object away quickly. When nothing reached out to attack him, he gingerly moved his hand back in the hole. His hand briskly brushed against the wall where the object had come from. It didn't budge, and there was no sign that it had ever opened. Atlas wondered if it had opened or if the small container had always been there. Shaking away the thought, he eagerly opened the box to find another protein bar and a bottle of water. His hands fumbled as he dropped the box and retrieved the water. His cracked lips yearned for a taste. Twisting off the cap, he let the soothing liquid pour over his dry lips and into his parched mouth.

Downing half the water, he stopped to take a deep breath. He looked down at the water as it dripped to the floor, spilling down his neckline. He wiped at the drops and thought better of consuming the entire bottle. He decided to save the rest for later, not knowing when he might get more. Atlas bent down to the box, pocketing the protein bar. He would save that for later too, even if his stomach was already begging for more.

Atlas walked over to the elevator, waiting for it to close and open back up as it had previously, but it didn't move. The only logical explanation would be another puzzle. After all, it had triggered the elevator last time. Testing out what had been the most apparent tactics thus far, Atlas felt along the walls and floors, to no avail. He anxiously paced around the room, feeling for more inconsistencies on the floor but came up empty-handed. This puzzle must be different.

Atlas' anger was rising. He was growing scared of the inevitable and unknown. His feet guided him as he started pacing around the room. The repetitive movement eased his mind for a moment. He thought back to the white room. It had been blank and straightforward, devoid of any color. The stark difference between that and this vibrant room was alarming. It had to mean something.

He was trying to think outside the box and removed all the paintings from the walls to look for another puzzle, but nothing was behind the overly cheerful works. He had searched every nook and cranny of the room but had yet to find anything that might trigger the elevator.

The weary man had no idea how or even if he would ever get out of the obnoxiously colored room. In a fit of pure rage and exasperation, he took out his scissors from the white room and ripped into the closest painting. The sharp edge ripped into the canvas with ease as the man pulled it straight down. He slashed, sliced, and snipped until the painting lay in pieces on the floor. Atlas threw the frame on top of the scattered bits in a mocking manner. Still filled with pent up energy, he went to work on the next one. The exercise was quite liberating.

Maybe they will try to stop me and then I can escape.

"I'm destroying your artworks!" Atlas shouted. "Just thought I'd let you know!" He proceeded to slice at the paintings until he came to the last one. This painting was the only one that had any form of symbolism. If he squinted his eyes a bit, he could make out the shape of a human. Atlas tore the material from its golden frame. He cut out the figure and set it aside. Then, he proceeded to destroy the rest of the artwork in a frenzy of fury.

Atlas was breathing hard as he looked to the only intact piece. Scissors in hand, he ripped the figure apart limb by limb; First, the arms, then the legs, and finally, the head. It felt wrong, and yet, he continued. The lonely room had effortlessly worn down his sanity. All he had now were nine shredded paintings and messy piles.

Finally finished with his crusade, Atlas sat on the floor. He landed with a bounce on top of the carnage. He pushed the scissors back into his pocket and dropped his hands into his head.

"What am I doing? I've probably gone mad from all the colors." He tried to rationalize his actions, but there was nothing rational about the destruction—unless there was.

Maybe this was what they wanted. Atlas still had no inkling who 'they' might be or why they would keep him here. Perhaps it was to watch his descent into madness. If they knew he would go insane, then maybe destruction was the appropriate response. He couldn't let them win.

Standing to his feet, he brushed the stray bits of painting off his jeans. He hung his head, ashamed of his outburst. As if it would fix the paintings, he went to work, organizing the pieces from each pile by color. That's when he saw it. Three of the pictures had one thing in common. Each of them had a neon green line that trailed off the canvas. The neon line had two points that met at the edge of the painting.

A triangle.

Atlas quickly arranged the paintings so that the colored lines matched up to create a triangle. Once he found the triangle, he scanned the other works of art for similar features. He was pleased to have found an orange circle and a light blue square. He finally had something to strive for. Rearranging everything, he realized that the three large shapes crossed paths. The rough paint brushed across his fingers as he picked up the pieces. Atlas gingerly moved all the shapes towards each other.

Finally, he had three shapes in a row. It wasn't a strenuous task, but Atlas found himself out of breath. The adrenaline was pumping through him as he dreamed of freedom. The joy of completing the puzzle was quickly stifled by confusion as the elevator stood still.

"What does it mean?" he mumbled to himself. He picked worriedly at his lip.

Looking back to the art, he noticed that what he had put together was almost a perfect rectangle. He used several blank pieces to fill the space surrounding the shape and placed a frame on top of the work. As Atlas set the structure, he felt the floor rumble. Looking to the elevator, he saw the doors had closed. A moment later, the rumbling stopped, and the doors reopened. Once again, he made his way to the elevator with a feeling of triumph.

Now that I have passed the lowest level, they have to let me out.

He stepped into the now cement-lined box and reached for the button. His heart sank as he saw the glaring obstruction. He had hoped for a switch to take him up so that he could leave the puzzles behind him, but instead, he was greeted with a worse outcome. The button before him read '-1'.

"How is that possible?" he muttered to himself, confusion laced in his words. Perhaps this was just some kind of sick joke. He pressed the button hesitantly and watched as the mess disappeared. The elevator moved down once more. Leaning against the cold and scratchy surface of the walls, he waited for the doors to open. As if it could hear his thoughts, the doors slid open.

His eyes took in what appeared to be a bedroom. He examined the new space and felt all the cozy and soft materials in the room; Blankets and pillows strewn about the floor. He picked one up and placed it on the bed that sat against one of the four dark red walls. All of the plush materials made him feel comfortable. It was an odd emotion considering the circumstances. He felt his lips quirk up into a smile. It was a calm one could only find at the eye of the storm. Atlas was recharged with determination as his nerves temporarily settled.

At the far side of the room, he saw a small vanity. Walking over, he watched his body move towards the large mirror.

So that's what I look like.

Immediately, he noticed the shimmering jewelry on his skinny wrist. It taunted him as it dangled loosely. He felt like this was the first time he had ever seen his reflection. Although he had never wondered precisely what he looked like, this was not what he expected. Atlas stared at his own sharp features. He looked pale in comparison to his dark hair. The navy blue shirt hung low on his hips and seemed to be a size too big. The pants seemed a little large as well.

Have I lost weight?

The thought came into his mind, but he realized he had no previous weight to compare to. Had he even existed before the elevator? The existential thoughts wore on his brain, making him feel the intense weariness in his bones. His eyelids grew heavy, and he noted the black circles set beneath his icy blue eyes. He was looking over his shoulder to the bed when he realized how tired he was. He gave himself one last look and mentally complimented his haircut before shuffling to the mattress, that all but called his name.

Atlas jumped onto the soft and silky red sheets. Curling up into a ball, he let himself slowly drift off into a dream—or what he thought was a dream. The only thing he saw in his sleep was the elevator and the first room. The only thing his mind could supply was an exaggerated continuation of the events since he woke up in the elevator.

"Wake up!" a voice suddenly called to him.

Atlas glanced around his dreamed white room only to find no one there. Out of fear, he ran into the elevator and took it to another floor, and then another, and another, and another. It was a never-ending loop. Each room was the same white room with the same puzzle. Anxiety ripped through his body, and a bustling noise scrambled his thoughts. Every step he took felt like a weight being added to his ankles, dragging down his steps and tiring him. The watch rubbed against his skin, begging to be acknowledged. Atlas cried out helplessly, wanting to end the insanity.

"Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!" he urged himself. With one last desperate cry, the noise stopped. Atlas peered open one eye and looked at the white room.

"You need to wake up," a familiar voice said from behind him. Atlas spun around to see the skinny face he had discovered earlier. He was looking at a mirror image of himself.

"If you stay here, you are giving them exactly what they want."

"Who are 'they'?" Atlas questioned the doppelganger.

The copy's eyes widened as if the question had scared him. "Wake up! Don't give them what they want!" His voice was loud and frantic in Atlas' ears. Suddenly, the room felt like it was spinning, and the terrified double snapped out of existence.

Atlas shot up on the now uncomfortable bed. He could hear the soft ticking of the cursed watch. Wet hair stuck to his forehead, and his breathing was rapid and unstable. He glanced expectantly around the room for the double of himself but found only the vanity and pillows of level -1.

He needed to leave. Now. Taking out the protein bar he had saved and grabbing the water bottle, he hastily ate the food and downed the remaining liquid. Discarding the trash, he struggled out of the tangled sheets and wiped the sweat from his brow.

Again he investigated the room to find the new challenge set in place for him. His mind felt sharp and focused even with a night of restless sleep. He picked up the pillows to search the floor. With his cheek pressed down to the carpeted surface, he searched under the bed and all around the sheets. The walls held no more answers. The only thing left was the vanity. Atlas approached the large mirror and touched every inch of it. Moving it off the wall, he felt around the back of the mirror.

Nothing.

He couldn't give up now. The dream had been vivid enough to terrify him. He didn't want to find out if his doppelganger was right. As he recalled the previous puzzle, he felt the urge to destroy. He could see his crazed expression reflected in its glass as his fingers itched to shatter it. Maybe destruction was the answer again. Perhaps he needed it to be the answer.

Atlas took out his set of scissors once more and jammed them into the mirror. Glass burst out of the shattered surface, shards scattering around him. He shielded his face from the rain, shaking the tiny pieces from his curls. Looking back to the mirror, his heart stopped. He stared at where the glass had been. There was a dark pane of wood that held the glass in place, and on its surface was a small red button.

Atlas reached to touch its smooth surface but paused. He couldn't keep doing the same thing. His doppelganger might be a figment of his imagination, but he had been right.

It's what they want. I have to break the cycle.

His brain formulated all the possible outcomes and ideas. Determined to change his fate, he thought of all the previous rooms. He imagined the elevator as it closed and opened again and again. Then, a thought came to him. He set his jaw in a tight line as the adrenaline kicked back into his system.

I have to try.

Atlas pressed the button and made a beeline for the elevator. His heart was pumping with adrenaline as he saw the door start to slide shut. He was halfway across the room, and the doors were still mostly open.

If I can reach it before it closes again, maybe I can leave!

This thought pushed him faster than he thought he could go. He had to make it. Time felt as if it had slowed down around him. With every step, the second hand ticked on the large watch. Just before the metal doors closed, Atlas launched himself into the box.

The clanging of metal was all he heard as he hit the floor of the elevator with all of his weight. A sharp pain radiated from his shoulder and down to his arm. His head rebounded against the concrete of the elevator, and a ring sounded in his ears. Clutching his head, he felt small drops of liquid form on his right temple. Pulling away his hand, he recognized the liquid on his fingertips as blood. Rolling onto his knees, he used the far wall to hold himself up. The metal elevator shifted suddenly. This time instead of shifting up, it felt as if it was traveling to the right.

His body lurched with force. It was not a smooth transition, but the possibility of freedom had his mind swirling with a thousand thoughts and his stomach in knots. He felt like it had taken ages, but the doors to the elevator opened up, and he eagerly jumped out only to land— right back in the same room he had escaped.

The red walls, carpet floor, the vanity, and the mess of pillows on the floor; Everything was the same. This room was the same, except it seemed to reset. The vanity Atlas had broken was repaired.

How is this possible?

Atlas rushed over to the vanity and examined the immaculate glass before him. He touched the fresh and smooth surface. The confused and terrified look he saw in the mirror was undeniably real.

"Who are you?"

Atlas spun around at the unexpected voice.

I must be going crazy.

He tried to reason with himself. Atlas was expecting to see the doppelganger, or even nothing at all. Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.

A woman with scarlet red hair and bright green eyes was standing a few feet from him.

I'm not alone.