《Murder of Crow》


 Chapter 1: No Turning Back

    A head nudges about, avian eyelids open to reveal black glassy orbs that try to comprehend the waking state. Dark wings stretch wide, rising from a midnight sea of feathers, two thin, naked poles attached to the bottom of the feathery tar ball lifted their owner off the ground, the poles three split ends at their base maintaining balance.


    The small bird was a crow, a curious crow that had awoke as if it were just born for the first time. Inspecting the area to the right brought immediate misfortune when the bird¡¯s beak smacked into a transparent wall. Following the wall as far as he could, the crow had to step backward to see the barrier curved into a ceiling. Behind where the bird awoke was another wall, and to the left another wall, and in front of him was a wall, but this wall was different: there was a cramped passage that led onward.


    Spreading his wings, the crow began to peck at the walls and the ceiling, but it proved futile. Looking beyond the walls, a feat easier then actually seeing the walls, was a white lab. The floors were white tile, the walls were white and flat, the ceilings were popcorn but still white. It was blinding, ugly, oppressive, and quite frankly ridiculous as far as the crow was concerned. Looking below revealed, as the avian suspected, a table with a white top, the only table in the otherwise barren room.


    Concluding there was no point dawdling any longer, the crow made its way through the passage. The tunnel was reflective of the much bigger room outside: aggravatingly oppressive. Spreading his wings was impossible as the walls were mere an inch or two from being the absolute minimum the bird could squeeze through and the ceiling was just too tall for him to be rubbing his head against.


    After walking a few feet, a door blocked the way and would persist to do so until a lever on the right was pulled. The lever was stored in an indent that forced the bird to reach in with an open beak and pull the shy mechanism from its comfort. When the lever was pulled, the crow beheld anxiously as the door behind him closed and the one in front opened. In fear and curiosity -mostly the former- he attempted to reverse time to a few moment prior by pushing the lever back into its hidey hole, but the lever was now content and stubborn with its new place in life.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    Many futile attempts to out-stubborn the lever later, the crow proceeded further down the cramped square tube, greeted by the lever¡¯s similarly shy brother, pulling it out and catching d¨¦j¨¤ vu like a bad virus as the door behind it, to his right while pulling the lever, closed and the one in front, to his left, opened. Going further and further, the black bird felt its patience being tested as it met the rest of the family of levers, the extended family, and the uncle twice removed.


    Again and again the crow would pull the lever, the past would close, the future would open. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And then the crow stopped because its beak was getting sore, returning hastily as the inability to spread its wings was driving the bird bananas. And again. And again. And again. And again. And finally the crow was free, or at least he assumed the light ahead was some kind of freedom. It was white, yet the lab around him was white, and there was still the issue of the rectangular prison that kept him cramped and flightless and threatened to have him develop claustrophobia.


    As he continued to pursue the bright white that called him forth, the crow¡¯s tunnel took him through the wall of the white lab.


    ¡°Ivan Joseph, Day 1: experimenting with the initial area reveals¡­doesn¡¯t reveal much. The corvids are all successful at making their way through the doors. This is good, there are no stragglers and no complications. Well, some birds are slower than others, but there are no signs of mental deficiencies.


    On an unrelated note, I met a man named Max Sharp, he¡¯s apparently the inspector for the goings-on around here. Asked what I was doing, told him it was none of his business. He didn¡¯t take kindly to this, so I quickly retracted my hostility by noting the oddity of working solo. His anger seemed to subside; good. I think he sees my studies as a waste of time. Personally I see his opinion as a waste of time.¡±

 Chapter 2: Sticks and Stones

    Waddling into the room, the crow wondered what the light was that had summoned him. The holy white brightness seemed to have disappeared without him realizing it, now replaced by a similar looking white room.


    Continuing down his path, the hall of tight space ended at a rock. This lazy boulder had blocked the exit, enraging the crow who would not stand for such callousness. What nerve did this overgrown pebble have pausing his journey? None! With a rude shove, the boulder was moved aside, yet another shutting behind the bird.


    The avian was no longer perturbed by such events, especially since the room he had entered was much larger, allowing him to spread his wings. And the avian did spread his wings, enjoying every second of it as the muscle tension eased. With wings at ease, he could happily retract himself and focus on his new location.


    In front of the crow was a large container in the container that contained rocks, holes, and sticks to put in the holes to move- the bird caught himself, realizing he was already figuring out what he was to do. Now he was angry, why was he so stupid as to interrupt his own smartness? Nevertheless, he looked at the sticks and at the rocks.


    There were three levels, each housing its own prized stone. Each rock was simple and unimpressive, but when you¡¯re a plastic platform whose sole purpose is to hold a rock, you treasure that rock with your non-life! The puzzle itself seemed simple, as the levels were like stairs, and at the lowest level was a shape jutting out of the floor. With each level there was a small platform made of cold, unfeeling metal which the crow could use in tandem with the holes to push the rocks around.


    Holding a stick in his mouth, the avian pushed the middle rock to the lowest level causing the shape to sink half-way down. Feedback! The crow fluttered to the top level, pushing that rock down to the middle level, and then pushing it to the bottom. The door to the east opened, leading to a narrow corner that turned into another large container-room.


    Stopping in the middle of the hallway corner, the bird analyzed the lab room, realizing he dismissed clearly distinct features. Two tables stood nearby, the left holding rocks while the right owned sticks. On the floor a stick and rock had fallen, laying far from their family but close to their table, as if the tables tried to trade one of their valuables but were inanimate objects and thus unable to do so. Realizing the tables would never complete their trade, he strolled into the next chamber.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    Looking up, looking down, looking all around, the bleak fowl found the room to be even roomier than the previous room. It needed to be, as the center was host to a tall scale just shy enough of the ceiling for the crow stand on top with one pan holding a stick. Surrounding the pans were plastic pillars with openings at the top.


    It didn¡¯t take long for the avian to piece together this situation was opposite of using sticks to acquire rocks. The previous small container in a container had an opening for a beak to slyly recover the stones and the top of the pan tower had enough room to drop an object.


    One pebble in, the pan moved down half-way. Two pebbles in, the crow stuck his beak to grab his prize, but alas it was not to be, for the stick was deviously placed centimeters too low for his jaw to collect. Three pebbles in and he finally had his stick. What was he supposed to do with a stick?


    Flying down to the ground, he saw a hole in which the stick fit perfectly, a rock at the end teetering on falling down onto another switch. Pushing the wooden twig far enough to send the rock hurdling off the precipice it stood over precariously required the crow to part ways with his prize. As the switch was pressed, the large and pretentious door opened, letting the crow walk through a tunnel fit for a king, or an eagle maybe. Turning to the left, the little rock sat on the switch. The crow pondered if it was lonely and sad. It was a victim of its own hubris, standing on the cutting edge of the platform, but perhaps it could find friends in the twig.


    Remembering that twigs and rocks are neither sapient nor even sentient or living for that matter, the crow realized this was stupid, he was stupid, and proceeded down the hall.


    ¡°Ivan Joseph, Day 20:


    After only four days the inspector asked me to expand my research. He said he showed others my experiment, something I should¡¯ve asked him not to do, and now they want me to expand, so I did. Admittedly I panicked and went for a safe option in using sticks and rock-based puzzles for the mazes. It was a little tricky getting the crows to start doing the puzzles without immediate rewards, but I managed.


    Unfortunately, Sharp had something new to complain about: the room. He didn¡¯t like the dirt I dragged in with the sticks and rocks I stole from the outside world. I told him it was a necessary sacrifice and that it added color to these tyrannical white rooms of blandness. He called me a slob. Still, he was impressed. Now begins to hunt to find original grounds to experiment with.¡±

 Chapter 3: Weight Equate

    Down a long and endless hall one might fear that they traveled amongst something far greater than themselves. The black bird that had traveled down the straight, grandiose tunnel could not shake the ominous sensation that a giant bird or beast would leap forth from the haze emanating from the unknown. On and on the corridor stretched, when suddenly¡­


    The crow reached the end of the hall and another room of puzzles awaited him. Or perhaps ¡°a-weighted¡± him would be more appropriate, as various weights decorated the floor inside the box.


    Outside the box the lab wasn¡¯t as dirty as before, but it would be difficult for an honest and picky person to say it was cleaner. There were no dirt patches, but instead more weights littered several desks. Where there could have been breathing room from the weights there was instead messy books with gibberish in them. Unfortunately, the crow couldn¡¯t discern whether he was illiterate or the books were actually gibberish.


    Back to the matter at hand: there were weights lined up, but with no particular order. ¡®Simple enough¡¯ thought the crow, who flew up and pulled at the ring handles of the trapezoids that varied greatly in mass. Putting them in order from smallest to largest caused a door to open.


    Inside the next room the crow beheld a spectacle he could never imagine: more slabs of metal with differentiating mass and density! Said weights looked to be involved in a puzzle of sorts, a query that would require wit and stratagem to solve.


    Shaking out of his sarcasm, the avian analyzed the puzzle in earnest: six weights of varying mass surrounded a scale in a hexagonal pattern, each weight at an edge. The scale¡¯s left pan was held down by a weight while the other plate was empty. The entire middle section of the scale was surrounded by a plastic pillar, a twig near the top of the scale¡¯s middle section, as well as a slit on the other end that led to a chute. The chute slit was too thin and long for the crow to wedge his beak inside. On the roof of the scale was a plate that held a key; the twig could only move in and out, meaning the key had to be within its tiny range.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    Fluttering back down to the earth, the crow eyed the pieces of metal and realizing they all held different numbers on them. The black bird was about to dismiss the numbers, but something sparked.


    From the deepest abyss within the darkest recesses of the bird¡¯s mind simple arithmetic emerged. The smallest weight read 1, then 4, then 5, 8, 9, and the largest read 10. Flapping back up, the weight on the pan read 7.


    Without hesitating, the crow lifted the nine and put it with the seven on the left, taking the ten, five, and one and putting them on the right. With the weights balancing out, the key moved to the middle, the crow pushed it down the chute and took the key. Looking around, he could see the door to the next puzzle room was already opened. At least the first one was.


    The next puzzle was already staring him in the face: a hallway of doors that had pull strings in front of them. Putting the key down, the crow pulled the string and the door went up. The crow let go of the string and picked up the key, but the door slammed shut on his way down.


    Dragging the 10-weight to the string, the crow made sure the door wouldn¡¯t shut on him this time, but there was a new problem: once he passed the tricky string door, there was another door, and squinting the bird could see a couple more proceeding it. Travelling back and forth, the crow brought all the weights to the door and strung up the one weight next, but it wasn¡¯t enough to open the door.


    ¡°CAW CAW CAW!¡± He crowed as he flung feathers flustered and frustrated. Furiously the bird¡¯s calls continued, becoming shriller and more forced. ¡°Caw! Caw¡­caw.¡± Eventually he calmed down, pushing his wings in line, and untied the 10-weight to find the lightest weight that could support the door. 1. The 1-weight was all it took. Then he found the 4-weight was enough for the second door. After many failed assumptions, 9 for the third. 5 for the fourth. 10 for the fifth and 8 for the last.


    Ponderous as he picked up the key, the bird pushed the metal stick into the lock, turned it, and proceeded into the grayish light.


    ¡°Ivan Joseph, day 44:


    My third experiment is going okay. Many of the test subjects struggled, some gave up, but just as many succeeded. Unfortunately, this is the worst possible result, as a total success or failure would¡¯ve been easy to understand.


    When I reported to Sharp, he took my success less joyously. I¡¯m not exactly sure what part of the last experiment was better than this one, but I figure he was at least a little impressed. Still I¡¯m beginning to worry that my job might be in jeopardy.¡±

 Chapter 4: Wood Rolling

    The rat in the plastic maze scrutinized the light raining down from above, many of the lights off or burnt out. Other rooms had been missing a few lights, but now the vitamin D deficiency was undeniable. Despite the poor luminescence, the crow could still see the outside lab: random wooden shapes dotted the lab, varying in size and shape. Most looked like they were attempts to make circles using one¡¯s teeth and the blocks were anywhere from the size of the crow¡¯s foot to bigger than the box he was trapped in.


    Then there was the matter of saw dust replacing the floor and claiming large sections of the tables in the room. Where there wasn¡¯t wood shavings, there wee weights, sticks, rocks, and papers. Papers joined the saw dust in a flurry of chaos. Perhaps this was why the room was poorly lit. Realizing how much time he was wasting on spacing out, the bird turned his attention to the room at hand.


    The room was another narrow hallway with a low-ceiling, but what stood out with this puzzle was the massive weight sitting on a box sitting on circles. The weight itself was gigantic, roughly the size of the crow itself, and was far too heavy for the crow to so much as budge. Jumping off the cart and then back on top, the crow realized the cart was on a slant.


    Looking left, the crow saw a stick on the verge of pushing a rock over an edge. Clasping the stick with his beak and maneuvering it on to a button, the crow quickly released himself when he felt the cart below him begin to move. The car quickly began gaining momentum before slamming into something, sending its passenger into a frenzy.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    Taking a moment to drink in his new surroundings, the corvid could confirm he was on a slope, but more importantly the weight moved forward a little. To his right was another stick-and-rock puzzle and upon completing it, the cart again moved down the slope and forcibly hit a wall. Looking left and right, there was no puzzle, but on the ceiling there was a string attached to a rock. Pulling at it caused it to fall on a switch, opening the next door. With one final slam, the cart came to sudden halt but the weight went flying off through an opening.


    The passenger descended onto the lock, looking on at a giant hole that led to the floor. Without hesitating, the crow descended into the hole.


    ¡°Ivan Joseph, Day 75:


    After spending so long getting this experiment to work, I was happy to report that all subjects at successfully completed the challenge. What I¡¯m not happy to report is Sharp¡¯s reaction, which shouldn¡¯t be a surprise but it makes my stomach implode every time I see anger or disappointment.


    This time was the worst reaction yet and it was neither of those reaction. This time Sharp was shocked and disgusted. He felt my experiment was hurting the corvid. I told him otherwise, but he told me to gut this experiment or else, and to make the next one safe for the birds.


    Honestly, what the hell does he know?¡±

 Chapter 5: Descent in the Dark

    Descending down the dark hole, the crow stopped when he hit a floor. To his horror and frustration, the setting of the lab persisted, this room even dimmer than before. Instead of missing a few lights, now only a few lights were on or working. However, this detail seemed minute compared to a gleaming object on one of the tables.


    The tables were filled with nothing but notes, notes and a black object that melted into the dark room. There was no dust, sticks, stones, wood objects, or even those blasted weights that resembled locks.


    Looking around, the crow was given two options for progressing: left or right. There seemed to be no strings attached, metaphorically or literal, just a choice. The bird hedged his bets on the left side, flying down the hole until he reached the next floor. Looking toward his point of origin, his vision cut off before he could see the top floor. Looking downward resulted in the same and his options were left and right again.


    Going left again, the crow hit another floor, but there were no options on this one. A dead end. The crow flew back up and chose right and was rewarded with the same monotonous options of travel. Choosing left yet again, he presumed it wouldn¡¯t betray him a second time.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    Reaching yet another fork on this never-ending waterfall, the bird¡¯s ire was flaring up again, but he continued, choosing to go left yet again. This time he hit another dead end, but there was something peculiar about the floor. Upon landing on the floor, his foot didn¡¯t hit the ground, but instead a object that looked familiar when he examined it.


    The path had held a black feather, it¡¯s color, size, and shape not unlike his own. Perhaps other crows were wandering the maze and one at travelled down this path? Thinking back, he realized the previous object from outside this plastic hell was also a feather.


    As possibilities rattled his brain, the corvid took the right this time, hitting another end with no left or right, but this was not a dead end. No, in front of the bird was a path leading forward, a light emanating from a dark hall. The brightness looked odd, appearing less concentrated than ceiling lights.


    The crow carried on regardless, his thoughts filled with that of the feather¡¯s origin.


    ¡°Ivan Joseph, Day 102:


    This experiment was the boring one to create, but it was as request: safe. The corvids had no trouble and likewise Sharp gave me no trouble, though he did seem to be more unimpressed than ever before. I asked him what the fuck he wants from me. He said he wanted something interesting and safe. I told him the last one was both, but he wouldn¡¯t listen.


    I told him I¡¯ll go above and beyond for the next one. His grave look will haunt me to my deathbed.¡±

 Chapter 6: Auto-Pilot

    Stepping through the doors, the bleak world was now dimly lit by a single dull bulb on the ceiling. Finally breaking from his stream of consciousness, the crow examined the new room.


    No longer was he surrounded by plastic, but instead a rusty metal interior with thin strips rising to a roof, glass windows filling the areas between the strips of metal and the wall behind the bird. The room as a whole was utterly massive, befitting a human more than a tiny corvid. The floor was a sheet of metal polka-dotted with black feathers.


    What caught his attention more than anything, however, was a giant hole in the center, the exit guarded by a grate. Perching atop the metallic cliff above the hole, the crow could see three levers. Beyond the windows were three pipes, all separated from one-another in a dark blue expanse.


    Of the three levers, the crow pulled the red lever on the left toward himself, resulting in the nearest crane to sink below him. As the crane halted, a swishing sound from below summoned the bird who saw the barrier was lowered, but another one guarded the pipe¡¯s exit. Flying back up, the crow pulled the middle, green lever, resulting in the middle second crane swaying from right to left before stopping; the sound of a barrier lowering was heard again, this time more distant. Pulling the final, blue lever, the third crane moved diagonally into place.This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Flying down and making his way thought the pipes, the crow watched as the barrier blocking his exit removed itself, but he had spun around at a swishing noise behind him. The barriers at the front had closed again, a sense of d¨¦j¨¤ vu flooding the corvid¡¯s stomach, and ill sense to be sure.


    As the small bird made his way into the second pipe, the gate behind him closed, a sense of urgency compacted with d¨¦j¨¤ vu had sent him into a panic, his instinct driving him to begin running forward as fast as his stick legs could carry. He would fly if the space around him would allow it, but alas the pipes were too narrow.


    Just as he got to the end of the second pipe, he dove through the rising barrier and kept running, anxiety beginning to well up inside. As he came to the end of the final pipe, he dove through the barrier, pulling his left leg in just before it could be crushed by the thick wall.


    ¡°Day 274:


    That¡¯s it, the man has shut me down. Sharp took one look at my magnum opus and shook his head, told me to pack my things and leave. I thought he was an inspector, not a supervisor. He said he¡¯ll give me a week to pack everything.


    Birds are my job, they¡¯re my hobby, they¡¯re my life. I didn¡¯t dedicate my heart and soul to becoming a scientist to be shot down by this¡­I can¡¯t even write those words. I have one week, I¡¯m going to make it count.¡±

 Chapter 7: Tube Tunnels

    Catching his breath, the tiny, black bird scanned the next room with his glassy midnight eyes. In color it was identical: blue metallic walls formed a box with no visible entrance or exit for humans, at least none immediately visible to the bird. To the left, right, bottom, and top the walls were just metal sheets with their cyan sea broken by gross brown rust. Directly in front of him was a series of holes that seemed to lead somewhere, each hole labeled with a number, one to twenty-five.


    Once he was able, the crow flew to the top left hole, labeled one. It was a short tube that hit a wall. Suddenly, a nagging sensation had nailed the bird like a sack of bricks, yet he couldn¡¯t place what it was, so he ignored and proceeded into the next hole, which proved to be a slightly longer hole.


    Hole three had generously provided a seed, answering a need for food the crow had all but forgotten since he had woken up. Hole four and five led into one another. The nagging sensation was now becoming hard to ignore, as it tugged at his mind constantly, it¡¯s grip relentlessly warning him to avoid a hole, yet frustratingly not able to warn him which hole it was.


    Flying straight down to hole ten, he had hoped he would find the exit before the thing he had to avoid. Hole ten was aggravating the crow, it¡¯s shape not the tubular one that he was now accustomed to, but a square shape that was even more cramped than the circular design. All of the holes on the second row were equally as obnoxious, all owning peculiar shapes.


    Hole eleven and his mind was now yelling, but he was now actively trying to ignore, a truly difficult fight. The hole¡¯s content was a rock. The next a stick, then a weight, then a wheel, and then a feather. Figuring hole sixteen might be the hole of terror his mind was alerting him to, he went to the hole below, number twenty.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Looking down the tubular hall, the crow could see it bent right, with a dim light in the twisting direction. This seemed as sure a sign as any, the crow making his way down, wondering what awaited him next. And then he stopped wondering.


    As the bird reached the end of the straight path, he froze, all anger and aggravation washing away. Stomach queasy, knee weak, and heart racing, the corvid¡¯s mind couldn¡¯t immediately comprehend what it was seeing. Tucked into the pocket of the path was the corpse of a fellow crow, its body having begun to decay.


    Finally gathering his nerves, the bird whisked himself out, landing on the blue floor and stretching his wings while eyeing the other holes. That was what his mind warned him of, why it was wound up, why it tortured him constantly. Or was it? Did these other holes hold darker and more twisted secrets?


    It had only now occurred to him that didn¡¯t have to be a way out. His heart beginning to race faster than before, he tried to calm himself, tell himself that this crow was merely a failure who messed around and let itself starve. Just then, his stomach roared, and thoughts of food flooded his brain.


    Putting his mind onto the image of his fallen comrade, the bird looked into the remaining holes before returning to his searched. Upon entering the eighteenth hole, the crow found himself wandering into an oblivion of darkness. Every so many steps, the bird would spread his wings to remind himself he was still trapped.


    Further and further, deeper and deeper, downward and downward; there was no end to the plunge, to the march, to the endless hall of blind faith the bird was forced to endure. After what felt like years of searching for guidance, some hope that he was even still alive, a dim light shyly crawled into the dark, letting the bird know he was reaching a destination.

 Chapter 8: Hot Rope

    The light of hope, the end of darkness; it seemed too good to be true. And it was.


    Reaching the source of the light, there was only more darkness. The floor below the crow was lava. An entire floor of molten rock seemed to coat the room of otherwise normal white walls. Despite its terrible visage, the lava was the only light source, the ceiling being completely black, but that was inconsequential compared to what was in front of the bird.


    A long plastic box had stretched from one end of the room to the other, its bottom exposed to the lava below. The walls were too thing to allow flight, but there was a string that would allow the bird to transverse safely over the deadly terrain.


    Making his way across the trapeze act, the corvid¡¯s weight made the rope sink and his own heart rise. Still, the combination of the rope¡¯s height and the proximity of the walls would not allow the bird to fall.


    As he continued to balance his way forward, the crow felt at ease knowing he couldn¡¯t fall. There was a sense of comfort that came without the burden of death, a familiarity as if this was another puzzle, this one testing his bravado, confidence, and ability to recognize danger.


    Then he met the obstacle that would flip his view on the situation. In front of him was a wall that would no long allow his progression forward, yet the rope continued onward, as if we to pass through the solid wall of plastic. The left and right wall had stretched outward briefly, giving him distance to fall, removing the prior safety from earlier.


    It took the bird a moment to realize what he was to do. With a heavy heart, the corvid latched tightly to the rope and let his body swing to the right until he was now upside down, clinging desperately to the rope above.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    Now closer to the molten rock below, the bird could see details he wasn¡¯t privy to prior to the act, details such as the bottom of the plastic walls melting away. The walls that stretched to allow his fall had narrowed further down and on the path ahead. The distance between him and the lava meant there was no mercy. Looking back up, he could see his way forward, the once impassable wall now passable.


    Slowly but securely, the bird inched his way across the rope. With every nudge forward, he fastened his grip to the new location, making absolutely sure not to let go. Soon, victory seemed but a few feet away, yet there was one vital issue, one fatal flaw in this plan: the blood from his legs was flowing to his head, numbness was beginning to settle in.


    With a bit more boldness, the crow inched forward faster, now making two inches in the time it took to make one previously. Letting his mind do the busy work subconsciously, the crow looked back down. To his horror and ever-growing regret, he bared witness to more dead crows, their burnt bodies lying on bits of land too small to save the surviving corvid.


    The crow¡¯s stomach once again growled, but he was too busy inching along even faster than before to pay it any heed. The fear of falling was replaced with the fearing losing his grip, making the latter fear an inevitability if he did not hurry.


    Rushing forward, he could see a small plastic path at the bottom would be his relief, if he could make it in time. Careless had led him to loosen his hold on the rope, causing one of his feet to dangle away. Swing his whole body backward, he managed to realign his foot with the cable, grab a hold of it, and with his remaining adrenaline he reached the end, letting his body flop onto the plastic lip.


    ¡°Day 146:


    The lab is filled with interesting things, things that have no right being here. Sadly I had to clip the wings of some of my friends in order for them to legitimately test the course. The results are tragic. This was a mistake.¡±

 Chapter 9: Piston Problem

    Having recovered from the perilous act before, the crow made his wait to a noisy, poorly lit room. Unlike the prior room that was constantly lit by the ever-present threat from below, this room¡¯s lighting came off and on. Or rather, simple pushing machines had blocked the bulbs at regular intervals.


    Through the teasing of the light, the bird could pull together the shape of the room. The walls were rectangular, colored a refined silver as if brand new. The room was insanely thing, allowing the crow to fly straight up without any wiggle room from his beak to his tail. The walls to the side stretched fairly far; the floor immediately below him was a pool of feathers, inviting fairly unpleasant images into his mind.


    Making the journey up, the crow perched on top of the piston that kept blotting out the bulb. The piston was not alone in this crime, as on the edge of the circular machine was another crow, its outstretched body covering any light that might¡¯ve escaped the pillar¡¯s greedy grasp.


    Right above the piston was another piston, though to the corvid¡¯s relief, it didn¡¯t travel far enough to crush him unlike the one he perched upon. Further upward was another light and set of pistons, but the crow would have to time his flight as more crushers eagerly awaited his folly, grinding their mechanical teeth in anticipation.


    When he saw his opening, he bolted upward, but he was too late to fly above the pillar blocking the next light. Right below that piston was another one that threatened to crush the bird, forcing him downward.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    With little time to think, the black bird rushed up past the light, but he was immediately halted by a piston about to reach the left wall, forcing him back down. Suddenly he flew back up when he realized another piston was a feather away from munching on him. Perching on the piston with which he best, the crow flew up when he felt it retract, unable to rely on the light below as guidance.


    In the dark, the crow flew with the hope that he would make it to the top, where the top took him. Up, up, and up he flapped his wings, praying that if there were any more pistons, they would miss him. With a thud, he had hit something he could not see nor immediately identify; what it was didn¡¯t matter, for his hopes were dashed when he felt the push of the metal machine against him.


    Too fast to lower himself, the bird simply accepted his fate without any retaliation, unafforded the luxury of regret, too scared to reflect on his past life. When all seemed lost, when the monster had its fangs wrapped around its victim, it relinquished the crow into another tube. At one end, the crow could see another light stretching from beyond.


    Whether the metal monster had taken pity on the crow or wished him to suffer longer, he did not rest on. Instead, he followed the light, some sliver of hope still remaining within him.


    ¡°What am I doing and why? I was given one week to evacuate the premises. Somehow Sharp has not come around to check that I¡¯ve really left. I wonder when he will? I wonder if he will? I hope he doesn¡¯t. I hope no one sees what I¡¯ve done. I only have a few friends left. Maybe it would be better if I just set them free now.¡±

 Chapter 10: Dangling Death

    The crow¡¯s eyes slowly took in the room before him. The glow of lights was back, but now it was sickly seaweed color, dim and flat. It fit well the scenery laid out before him.


    The narrow tube hall had given way to a maze of string nooses, many were beckoning the bird forward. Perhaps more distressing than the ropes that asked for his complied suicide were the ones that already found their victim. Many a noose had taken a life, holding their lover in an embrace of death. It was a grave yard, and it was crying out to burry him in one its vacant, string graves.


    Below the jungle of death was a bed of spears, equally hungry for blood as the ropes were for necks. Across from him, not even that far compared to the lava trapeze from earlier, was the exit. Unfortunately, the path required navigating ropes of varying heights.


    Moving one-foot forward was the most terrifying experience yet, not the least of which because he had caught sight of one of the bodies moving, as if to warn him against such an action. Was the movement a trick of the mind or were the hosts still alive?


    It was a thought too chilling to rest on, so the corvid made his first move, securing his grip on one ceiling lasso before quickly following suit with the other. Just as he began to ease himself amongst the deathly environment, the tiny ropes holding the bird up were beginning to sink. Without giving it a second thought, the crow pushed onward, grabbing another set of ropes, these ones even less capable of holding his weight.This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Having no time to think, the third set of ropes were of mismatched high, causing the bird to dangle awkwardly. The position wasn¡¯t pleasant, but to the black bird¡¯s relief, his support was stable. Making his way forward would be a different matter, as the noose jungle grew thicker, with an increasing amount of bodies muddying the path to the exit.


    Once he had planned his next couple of moves, the bird relinquished his safety and proceeded into the unknown danger. First he pulled himself closer to the ceiling, then back down to the height he began this torture. As the exit was within his reach, the worst outcome occurred: the bird grew comfortable and confident with the nooses, to the point he stopped checking whether they were fastened tightly or not.


    Down, down the bird fell, into the bed of spikes. There was no time to regret his actions, his miscalculation, his hasty mistake. As he landed, the corvid was met not with penetrating spears that had eagerly awaited his fall, but instead the bodies of his fallen brothers.


    With the exit straight above, the bird flew up in a rush, not wishing to dwell on thought of failure and the death that could have and should have been.


    As he walked down the plastic hall, the sickly green light of the noose jungle began to fade, replaced by natural light. The bird would thank his unfortunate predecessors once he was free.


    ¡°It¡¯s over. All of my friends are gone. I¡¯ve scarred this building. I¡¯ve ruined my life. None of that matters. I¡¯ll join my fallen flock, I¡¯ll fly away with them, where people like Sharp can¡¯t hurt us.¡±

 Chapter 11: Blades of Faith

    The crow is no longer in the box but in the lab. The lab is decrepit, with holes being the only light to guide the crow.


    The crow must pass through many whiling blades without being decapitated or cut to pieces.


    Natural light was an oddity to the bird. The lights from above were so familiar, so homily, yet this light had ushered him forward stronger than hey thing else could. Food, water, safety, warmth, comfort; all these things and more awaited.


    But not yet.


    The plastic hall had come to an end, opening up to a metal room with whirring metal fans. The natural light had emanated from above, through a metal grate, a portion of the ceiling that had broken off.


    On closer inspection of the room, the corvid could see how dingy and decrepit it was: the ceiling, walls, and floor were all being devoured by putrid red and brown rust. Of the two fan blades at the left and right ends of the wall opposite of the crow, one was rotating slowly, an old grey metal fan. The fan on the right was moving rapidly, yet the bird could make out hints of red and vomit inducing odor protruding from the contraption.


    This room was like the other metal box rooms he had been in previously, having no visible entrance or exit except for the ones that he traversed. Except this room only seemed to have one area that served as an entrance or exit: the room he just escaped.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    No. His mind had finally understood the pattern beckoning him. The foul odor and red color of the fan on the right would suggest death, and death was the path he had been leading the way.


    Flying over to the fan, the wretched scent had become nauseating. Through the blades, the crow could see more fans down a shaft. Taking a moment to mentally prepare himself, perhaps the last moment he would ever know, the bird rushed through the fan.


    Thud


    He landed on the floor of the metal shaft, unharmed physically. Beyond him was another fan, this one looking less red. This time with just a leap, the crow passed through the fan, again unharmed, but only physically as he looked upon the source of the wafting, unbearable smell.


    Before the third and final fan were the splattered remains of several crows. Heads, feathers, a slew of blood, and organs of all types painted the metal hall red with a little black, but no gray.


    Making his through the guts and gore, the bird looked at the third fan, gyrating at speed so incomprehensible that it looked ready to break out of its restraints and tear the bird to pieces. If he jumped through the fan, he would meet the same fate as those below his feet, no doubt about it. Still, he had to proceed.


    Desperate, the crow picked up a random organ and threw it at the fan. It did little to stop the pulsating monster. The bird threw in another organ, then a head, then a wing, all the while, the bird¡¯s stomach growled louder than before.


    Even though it seemed futile, the corvid continued to stick every object on the ground into the metal blades. Little by little, the fan began to slow down; as the area beyond the rotating blade became visible, the crow hopped through, only nicking his left wing.


    As he walked through the vent, the black bird felt a rush of heat come over him. His stomach also continued to growl.

 Chapter 12: Deserted

    There it was: a bright light at the end of the tunnel. A shine that forced the bird¡¯s eyes shut as he rushed towards it. The light was hot, it was blinding, and it felt painful. Whether he was walking toward freedom or an untimely demise, the bird simply wanted release from the torture.


    Suddenly, the vent gave way to a softer, looser floor. Opening his eyes, the bird could see he was surrounded by sand, a vast blue expanse beyond him.


    Without wasting a moment, the crow flew up, up, up. And then his heart fell down, down, down. He hit a roof, a ceiling in the sky. Looking back toward the vent, he could see the ¡°vast expanse¡± was a blue wall painted to mimic a desert.


    Despite his test dragging ever onward, the bird could see no sign of progression. From the sky, he could see no blood, no organs, no bodies; there was only sand. Soaring away from whence he came, it wasn¡¯t long before the sand would be populated with death. A single body laid on the sandy floor, a body that the bird felt compelled to check.


    Landing next to the bird, it was dead, there was no possibly otherwise. He knew there was no other possibility. It was at this moment that he had stopped himself and wondered how he could know such a thing. His brain began to ache, his body tremble, his heart race, all signifying a revelation that was gracing the poor avian.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    This body was his. The bodies prior were his. How? Why? Not everything was clear yet, but he knew that every step he had taken, he had taken before. Every puzzle he solved, he solved before. But not every trap was always a success. How far had he gotten before? Was this his previous attempt?


    His stomach began to seriously ache and moan.


    This must have been a previous failure that hadn¡¯t eaten. He had tried to ignore his hunger because there was nothing to eat; was he to die here again? Was there even a way to succeed? These thoughts were overshadowed by a dark, looming idea that he had been pushing away unconsciously.


    Out of curiosity -nothing more, he thought to himself- he pecked the corpse. And again. And then he tore off a wing. Then he tore it apart, gulping down the flesh, little by little. And then a lot, by a lot. He continued until his hunger was satiated.


    It was a gruesome sight, the desecrated¡­no, his desecrated body, but he wouldn¡¯t let his previous death be in vain.


    Flying back up, he had watched the land as he flew past the body, hoping to spot more bodies. He continued to scour the ¡°sky¡± for what felt like hours, but may have been minutes, never spotting another body. What caught his attention, however, was another wall that he had found by crashing into it.


    Fluttering back down to the earth, the crow could spot a pipe nearby, a blue pipe. His stomach no longer growling, but the heat beginning to take its toll on his body, the bird entered the pipe without question.

 Chapter 13: Tube Troubles

    The crow must go through another series of metal tubes, however at the end it must decide on what tube leads to the exit. After entering the first tube, the crow comes to a dead end, exiting it to find the wall he just came from is closing in. In a panic, the crow must decide on what exit leads to the end. The crow panics and panics until something in his sub-conscious tells him to go into the hole marked 16.


    The air in the pipe was refreshing, as if the crow was back in the safer parts of the lab. It wasn¡¯t until he was out in the arid desert that he realized how much he appreciated air conditioning. The light reflecting off the tube¡¯s surface wasn¡¯t nearly as harsh as the metal grate.


    However, making his way further down the dark, blue cylinder, there was a sense of dread overwhelming the corvid. At this point, he shrugged it off, unable to distinguish why he felt it. Beside that, a more boisterous voice was telling him to keep moving forward, consequences be damned.


    Further and further the blue tube stretched on, until a dim light signaled the cutoff point. The room awaiting the bird was yet another metal box, this one looking exactly like the blue box room from when he saw his first body.


    Flapping down to the floor, he wondered if this was the exact same room. His memory wasn¡¯t willing to recall any more information, not even confirm or deny his suspicion. There were exits marked with numbers above them, one to twenty-five. Flying up to number twenty, he proceeded down the hall that seemed to turn right.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    Taking a moment to prepare himself, the crow stretched his neck around the corner, and he saw¡­nothing. It was a dead end with nothing awaiting him. Had the body been moved? Was it even dead to begin with? Was the bird just imagining it?


    A loud crunching sound from behind the crow had made him jump, his heart stopping as he turned and left the tube to check out what was happening. At first, there was no obvious change in the room, but when a metal hum began, the corvid saw the entrance he had come from was closed, and the wall was pushing forward.


    Flying to the eighteenth hole, the crow¡¯s heart was galloping when he met a dead end. Flying back out, the wall was getting closer. In a panic, the bird chose hole eight, but only found a seed.


    As the wall was half way toward the holes, the bird quickly dove into a random hole, only to find it was another dead end. Flying back out, the wall was nearly on top of the corvid.


    His head and eyes darting to every number in a millisecond, his hearting beating twice as fast, his mind racing at three times the speed, the bird was praying to the sky above that he could just remember what hole was the right one. As he felt the wall touch his back, the number sixteen flashed in his mind. Dropping into the tube, the bird heard the smashing sound of the moving wall colliding with the stationary one.


    The crow sat down in the dark tube, breathing and letting his heart and mind rest. The darkest holding him tightly, he wondered if he was trapped, if his brain had just randomly selected a number.


    Standing back up, the black bird realized there was no suppressing his anxiety until he found the answer. Marching onward, he awaited the inevitable sense of defeat once he hit a dead-end.

 Chapter 14: Full Circle (finale)

    Deeper and Deeper the black bird wandered into the blacker oblivion. He had walked through the cold dark many times before, but never had he considered being trapped in it. No matter how far the bird wandered, there seemed to be no end to the tube. There were turns, but no end.


    After making a turn out of countless turns, the bird could see a light ahead. He was not fooled, he did not get his hopes up, for he knew had devious the light was, he knew how it beckoned him forth, only to trick and devastate him.


    Still, there was no going back, but there was little drive to move forward.


    Stepping out of the tube, the floor, the walls, the ceiling, they were all so surreal. His environment was not of metal, of sand, of plaster, but of wood. There were no bodies, no feathers, no organs, no blood. Just him, the wooden environment, and a board with lights.


    The board was white and had twenty-five numbered red lights, some lit, others dim. The numbers were written in white, and at the top of the board in red were the words, ¡°have faith¡±.


    More memories had come rushing back, painful memories of his failures, each one resulting in a death by electrocution. The numbers he had picked were the ones that had gone dim. Unfortunately, there were still twelve numbers lit up.


    One was dim, as was twenty-five. Five was dim, as was twenty. The corners were all picked. Seven was picked, sixteen was picked, eighteen was picked. Ten was chosen, six was chosen, thirteen was chosen. Eight and nine and four were all pecked. Every important number seemed to have been guessed, anything relevant was assumed, yet wrong.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    The crow began to flap angrily again, cawing and huffing and a fury as the words on the sign above mocked him. Even when he slowed, the bird strutted across the floor frustrated and defeated.


    There was no logic or reason behind the number, no clue or hint, no sign. He simply had to pick and hope and pray. ¡°Have faith.¡±


    His in stomach, in his heart, the corvid could feel his experiences, his trials, and his tribulations of this life welling up, as if his fate was already decided for him. If it was predetermined, what did it matter? He would simply experience this all again, and again, and again. Was it even worth it to try?


    Yes! It was worth it to try. No matter how unlikely the odds, every attempt brought him closer to getting the right number. There were only fourteen numbers left. Success wasn¡¯t likely, unlikely, or impossible; it was inevitable.


    Flying up to fourteen, the crow pecked the number, the light growing dim as he did. Nothing happened.


    As he continued to keep himself aloft, the bird wondered if he hadn¡¯t made a mistake. Fear had begun to corrupt his excitement and pride, until the board began to move to the left, revealing an exit.


    Through the exit was a beautiful ray of sunlight highlighting a bountiful sky of pink and orange. In an instant, the avian took off into the clouds, merging with them, never to be seen again.


    ¡°You¡¯ve hurt so many of them. You burned them, crushed them, and hung them. And still you think they¡¯re your friends?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re all I had.¡±


    ¡°That is no excuse. You¡¯re horrible. But not irredeemable.¡±


    ¡°Do people like me go to hell? Is that where this conversation is heading?¡±


    ¡°No. You will not be made to repent for all eternity; such a concept is a human''s narrow view on punishment, a senslessly spiteful idea fueled by foolhardy revenge. Stiil, those who inflict suffering must pay for their crimes, they must learn from their mistakes and understand the pain they caused. You will know how you¡¯ve hurt your ¡°friends¡± until you¡¯re deemed forgiven. Only then will you be allowed peace.¡±