You didn’t get this far by listening to your instincts — it’s curiosity that has pushed you to this stage.

Besides, who hasn’t wondered what it’s like to be from the Lower Halls, to live deeper underground with the elite? Kids in those levels are never sent out on a dare to the surface, and never get caught by roaming slavers. They don’t struggle with rations and are giving citizenchips the moment they’re born. The privileged pale faces – if only you’d be born a few levels lower, you could have been one of them, too.

Instead you’re here, pulling open the door to a theatre booth, slipping inside with a guilt you’re ashamed to feel. In for a penny….

You settle down on one of the two chairs, rest your arms on the armrest, and look toward the stage. The glass of the booth is so clean, it’s hard to tell you’re in an enclosed environment, although a faint draft is coming in through the half-open door.

You lean forward, grab the door handle and pull it shut. The resulting silence comes as a shock: the booths are soundproof.

Eventually, the novelty of sitting in the booth wears off. You stand up, try the door handle. It doesn’t turn. You try again with no luck. Your heart is racing — you have to wipe your hands on your jeans.

The third time you try, you use your shoulder to shove against the door. But the glass doesn’t budge, doesn’t shatter, not even when you try to kick it down, throwing your whole weight at it.

That’s it. You’re trapped. Game over.

THE END. (Try again?)