Chapter 2

“You aren’t trapped. You are part of the structure.”

We left before dawn. The bus was filled with a thick, tense silence. Not a word. Not a single joke. Only the crunch of tires on asphalt and the creaking of upholstery on the turns. It felt as if even our breathing was trying to remain unnoticed.

Mr. Vines sat in the front — motionless as a statue, his back straight, his hands on his knees. He reminded me of the captain of an old ship who knew that the storm was not an enemy, but the sea’s natural state. His gaze, reflected in the rearview mirror, was focused and detached. As if he were already where we were just heading.

At first, there was the highway — long and straight. Then — smaller roads where lonely gas stations, peeling signs, and houses with broken windows flickered past. Finally, the asphalt ended, and the bus turned into the forest.

With every kilometer, it felt like we were drifting further from the world we knew. The trees grew denser, the sky darker. The space seemed to constrict, like a crumpled sheet of paper.

“How much further?” Thomas whispered, sitting next to me.

I shrugged. We didn’t know. Nobody knew. The coach wouldn’t say. He had simply ordered us to be ready. We already understood: the fewer the words, the harder the task would be.

The place they brought us to didn’t look like a sports center. It didn’t look like anything at all.

An old building of gray concrete and black glass rose up in the middle of a scorched wasteland. No sign. No flags. No hint that anything here had to do with sports.

For a moment, I thought this wasn’t a center, but someone’s prison. Or — a grave for something still alive.

The coach showed his card to security. The metal gates screeched and swung open.

“We move in formation,” he said. “No talking.”

We walked through the inner courtyard. The ground beneath our feet was gray, as if charred. Not a blade of grass. Not a sound. Only our footsteps.

Inside, the building turned out to be empty and cold. White corridors, walls with peeling paint, cracks oozing moisture. Cameras in every corner. The feeling of being watched was instantaneous — sticky and intrusive.

The air was heavy, humid, like in a ship’s hold.

I walked with the others, feeling my heart beating somewhere in the pit of my stomach.

Every sound echoed — our breathing, our footsteps, even the pulsing of blood in our temples.

We went down a narrow staircase. Floor after floor, deeper, darker. The space seemed to lose its form. The air became thick, like syrup.

On the third level, the coach stopped in front of a heavy metal door.

“Here,” Mr. Vines said. “Your new pool.”

He entered a code. The door clicked and opened.

The first thing that hit us was a humid heat. The second was the silence. Not an ordinary one, but dense, suffocating. As if this place itself was holding its breath.

We entered.

It wasn’t a standard pool. It was a labyrinth.

The pool was massive. But not a standard rectangle — it was a network of underwater corridors. Mirrored walls. Corners. Turns. Starting blocks stood along different walls — like in a maze.

“The competition was training,” the coach said. “This is reality.”

“There is no ‘second place’ here. There is either a path to the exit, or a dead end.”

He handed each of us a waterproof map. It had nothing on it.

Just a starting point and the inscription: “The choice is yours.”

“The rules are simple,” Mr. Vines continued. “You enter the water.”

“At each stage, there is a room. There is a puzzle there. Solve it, and the passage forward will open. Fail to solve it, and you remain.”

“And if someone gets lost?” Simon asked quietly, looking at the floor.

The coach smirked.

“Getting lost is a lesson, too.”

We changed in tiny locker rooms — cramped, with rusty benches and a shower that creaked through the entire floor. I pulled on my suit, feeling my ribcage tightening. Just like in childhood — in that shed. The old demons were waking up.

Don’t think. Just breathe, I told myself. Just breathe.

Before the start, we lined up at the edge. The water in the pool was dark. Clear, but somehow too deep. It seemed to beckon us down.

I looked at my reflection — it wavered, distorted, as if it didn’t recognize me.

The coach raised his hand.

“On your marks,” Mr. Vines said shortly.

And we jumped.

The water embraced us, covering our heads. Cold, thick, viscous. It felt like it wasn’t letting us in, but pulling us under — slowly, with effort, as if testing each of us for strength.

The sound vanished. Only a hum remained in my ears — a low, underwater drone, like a distant machine. My whole body became heavy, my movements slowed down.

I swam forward, trying to follow the directions on my map, but it was blank. Only an arrow pointing to “Start” and the words: “The choice is yours.”

Just me… And the darkness of the corridors.

Light reflected off the glass walls, fracturing, duplicating, as if the space itself were trying to confuse me. Every direction seemed equally possible — and equally wrong.

A shadow flickered somewhere behind me. Or did I imagine it?

I froze, feeling everything forgotten rising up: closed spaces, dreams where you cannot surface, breath that runs out before the path ends.

Ahead — a fork in the road.

I chose the right tunnel.

Leaving behind only a splash and a fading reflection.