The automatic doors slide open with a slight scraping noise. Beyond them lies the vast expanse of the mall, a landscape of polished tiles reflecting the harsh glow of fluorescent lights, half of them flickering and the other half not flickering, the latter half working the way lights are supposed to work. The air is thick with the mingled scent of cinnamon pretzels and industrial cleaner, a combination that assaults olfactory receptors. (that's your nose and stuff). So begins a treacherous journey into the unknown.
أنت steps inside cautiously, eyes scanning the suffocating halls for threats. Faint noises, maybe distant footsteps echo like a drum of the impending sensation of doom. They bounce off the high ceilings and empty corridors, giving أنت that feeling like you get when your teacher called you out in front of the class in grade five, Mrs Becker. Ugh, fuck that stuck up old... actually, nevermind. More pressing matters at hand.
A mall map stands on a pedestal nearby, tiny print obscured by shadows and glare. The map promises direction but delivers only the illusion of control.
Ahead, the main corridor stretches wide. Storefronts line the walls, their glass facades glinting with reflections of figures moving in unpredictable patterns. Each passerby is a potential obstacle.
Options:
1. Move directly into the center corridor, sneaking carefully around the unknown passersyby and display racks. The floor is slick in some areas, a hidden hazard that could end أنت’s expedition abruptly.
2. Examine the mall map, attempting to discern the safest route through this industrial jungle. The map’s text is small and confusing, requiring intense concentration.
3. Approach the escalator on the left, gauging the stability of the handrail. Even a minor miscalculation could result in an accident of cataclysmic proportions.
Choose wisely. Each path carries risk. The mall sees all. The mall knows all.
