Marco's Heart

[peccatore]

You find yourself in a bright white, circular room. It's nearly empty; too bare, almost clinically so. But the bareness of it means that what is visible here stands out:

A podium in the center, where a familiar figure sits, head buried in his hands. Three paths running from the podium to three different spots near the edges of the room - not corners; circles don't have corners - where three doors leading seemingly nowhere stand with no regard for their complete lack of structural support.

It doesn't take you long to figure out where you are, does it? You only have to decide where to start.

Comments

[pyrrhicviktory]

That is all well and good, but I have no desire to be your judge or jury.

[peccatore]

"Then..."

He pauses. Inhales. Considers this, apparently.

"Pick a number."

[pyrrhicviktory]

[ "That's the same thing," Viktor wants to argue. But he bites his tongue. ]

Very well. Three.

[peccatore]

"Three," he repeats, and then mumbles something under his breath. A calculation, perhaps.

After a few moments, he points to this door.