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Choice: Eleven

Now comfortably shoed, you exit the hallway and find yourself in another small room. You roll your eyes in frustration, because on the door at the end of the room you see another sign: “Icarus, take the key to Fisher.” A small brass key engraved with the number fifty-two has been placed at the very center of the room. Slipping the small key into your pocket, you rip open the door. Rushing air pushes against the tight shirt while the midday sun of the outside world blinds. The blindness passes, but what you see strikes you dumb. In front of you lies an enormous grass-lined canyon, almost three miles long and two miles wide, and holding what you suspect are the remnants of a small town at its bottom. Little rooftops and lampposts are all you can see at this height, but their organization says something of a used-to-be township.

Beyond the canyon stretches a blue open sky above empty fields that run towards the horizon. Nothing exists in this new portion of the world: nothing but the canyon and the small town inside. Deciding that this must be where Fisher resides, you walk towards the opening of the canyon and begin a descent.