It was a large factory or industrial complex — perhaps even an electric generation facility or nuclear plant, I couldn’t tell. There were weird traps as we tried to find our way out; several in our party were lost, including at least two in the shower room: a space where rain seemed to fall from the ceiling and down the tile walls without a source. Others refused to stay with the group and were never seen again, but their screams echoed in the seemingly empty corridors.
It was too late. Before anyone could say it, the mousy woman who had complained about being afraid the whole time we were scrambling through rooms piled with old desks and dusty office debris pressed what looked like an elevator button. Inside were several hallways, similar in appearance to the one we were in, but slanted down and to the right. She stepped past the plastic sheeting that separated the elevator-like doors from the hall as several of us called to her not to go in.
Before she took three steps, a man appeared. He was nattily dressed in a narrow tan suit with matching shirt and shoes. His hair was nearly the same color as his shirt — he was nearly an Albino. “Hello,” he said in a voice like oiled death. “My name is Surprise and I am here to help you.”
And then I woke up.