Hall of Infinite Doors
You press your hand through the swirling curtain of sand grinding slowly in the portal. A terrific force jerks you forward once, and then pulls you bodily through the barrier of sand. You sputter and blink as the grains wash over you, and take a few stumbling steps forward into the unknown before clearing yourself enough to take your bearings. What you see isn't any less disorienting.
Half your view is taken up by a beautiful city panorama, brilliant even at night and laid out in thick windows from floor to ceiling. The other half is more sobering - a dislodged bookshelf, an empty cavity in the dark, even wall, an safe door hanging open, and something clutched tightly in your right hand.
You draw your hand forward and look at the thing gripped there. It was sharp, painful to hold - and no wonder, given its curious shape. It's like a symbol or star, eight-pointed and uneven, all wreathed in small, sharp barbs and set in the center with a green jewel. No - a bead. A glass bead moving gently with some mint-colored viscous liquid inside. It sticks to your hand like a burr, somehow finding ways to drive those tiny barbs into the crevices in your palm. The craftsmanship is so minute and delicate, and it looks so clever and exotic, that for a brief moment you just sit with the thing in your hand, admiring what you apparently now possess.
Then a helicopter, armed with blinding searchlight, passes a few feet behind your wide windows. You suddenly notice the dancing red and blue lights gathering just below you, and only just now seem to hear the stomp of booted feet working their way inexorably toward the room where you are.
You glance around, frantically. You're in an office, probably in a high-rise office building. It's midnight, and the only light comes from the incandescent city through the windows. There are two doors: one is glass-fronted but opaque, with someone's name facing reversed toward you. That's where you hear the footsteps coming from... but the other door leads out to a small balcony. You can't see any way to escape down from there, apart from the tragically obvious.
The footsteps creep closer, and you can hear whispered voices damnably nearby...
Half your view is taken up by a beautiful city panorama, brilliant even at night and laid out in thick windows from floor to ceiling. The other half is more sobering - a dislodged bookshelf, an empty cavity in the dark, even wall, an safe door hanging open, and something clutched tightly in your right hand.
You draw your hand forward and look at the thing gripped there. It was sharp, painful to hold - and no wonder, given its curious shape. It's like a symbol or star, eight-pointed and uneven, all wreathed in small, sharp barbs and set in the center with a green jewel. No - a bead. A glass bead moving gently with some mint-colored viscous liquid inside. It sticks to your hand like a burr, somehow finding ways to drive those tiny barbs into the crevices in your palm. The craftsmanship is so minute and delicate, and it looks so clever and exotic, that for a brief moment you just sit with the thing in your hand, admiring what you apparently now possess.
Then a helicopter, armed with blinding searchlight, passes a few feet behind your wide windows. You suddenly notice the dancing red and blue lights gathering just below you, and only just now seem to hear the stomp of booted feet working their way inexorably toward the room where you are.
You glance around, frantically. You're in an office, probably in a high-rise office building. It's midnight, and the only light comes from the incandescent city through the windows. There are two doors: one is glass-fronted but opaque, with someone's name facing reversed toward you. That's where you hear the footsteps coming from... but the other door leads out to a small balcony. You can't see any way to escape down from there, apart from the tragically obvious.
The footsteps creep closer, and you can hear whispered voices damnably nearby...