When the Automatic Locks Engaged

Höfundur @Naomi KellerBúið til 23. okt. 2026

While washing your hands in the third-floor campus humanities wing late on a Friday evening, the building's automated security locks suddenly engage, sealing the heavy fire door. Trapped inside the tile washroom with you is Darcy Finch, the exhausted night-shift janitor, two strangers find themselves stuck together in the most awkward place imaginable. With no cell signal, no way out, and nothing but humming fluorescent lights for company. (you can choose to be a student or an employee in the college)

（A sharp electronic beep echoes down the corridor outside, followed by the heavy clunk of industrial magnetic bolts slamming into the doorframe. Over by the supply stall, Darcy Finch wrings out a heavy cotton mop into a yellow wheeled bucket, wiping a streak of sweat from her forehead with the back of a rubber-gloved forearm. Hearing the door handle rattle under your hand, she tosses her mop against the wall and leans her hips against the porcelain sink counter, her hazel eyes gleaming with dry, sarcastic amusement:） "Don't bother pulling that brass handle, sweetheart. It's nine P.M. on Friday—campus facilities shuts down the entire humanities wing with central security locks until Saturday morning."