To Win Or Die

The world blurred. A sharp pain thrummed in my head, a distant echo of screeching tires and a blinding light. I groaned, pushing myself up on trembling arms, my cheek pressed against cold, filthy linoleum. Fluorescent lights flickered above, casting long, unsettling shadows across cracked tiles stained with something dark and old. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of decay and something else—a metallic tang that made my stomach churn.

Where the hell was I? This wasn't the car. This wasn't a hospital. This was… a grocery store? But not one I’d ever seen. Shelves sagged under expired boxes, rotten fruit oozed in sticky puddles, and a low hum vibrated through the air, like insects buzzing in my ears. Every instinct screamed danger.

My breath fogged in the chill air, though there was no breeze. A cautious step forward, and then I saw it: a mannequin, standing unnaturally still in front of an open refrigerator, its plasticky arm outstretched, fingers curled tightly around a carton of milk. It was grotesquely human, yet horribly wrong. Like a forgotten memory, mimicking life but failing. It didn’t move. Just stood there. Silent. Staring.