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.

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.”