Test 1 Part 4: Escape

"Think, goddammit, think," Jason screamed at himself. "There's a way!"

He threw his head back against the seat and stared at the roof of the cab. If he ever got his hands on the freak who'd done this too him… he'd drag the guys face so far along the tarmac they'd be picking bones fragments up for miles. Jason sighed in fury and glared at the roof. Then something caught his eye.

A hole. There was a dirty fucking hole in his pristine velvet roof cover. It was in the far left corner, above the passenger side. Almost before he could stop himself he'd poked a finger into it, feeling for something inside. No pain followed, but there was nothing to find either.

"What the hell…" he mumbled, and glanced at the drivers side. There was a hole there too.

"Huh?" He turned around and peered over his seat. Two holes were barely visible above the left and right side of the back seat as well. What the hell was going on with that? And what's more, he noticed a final one in the centre of the velvet. Five in all.

"Is this part of the game? Something… I missed?" The final words of the CD Sicko struck him like a blow to the head. Quickly, he leant back in the driver's seat and pulled a handle on the side. The seat immediately began to move backwards, the headrest slowly descending towards the back. He felt like he was in a dentist chair.

When the chair at last lay almost horizontal, he pointed his hand in the air, and began to trace lines between the dots. From one side to the other, each one going through the centre.

" Good luck, Jason. X marks the spot." Jason wasted no time.

He began to slash at the ceiling with the scalpel, shredding the soft velvet, no longer with any regard. Soft pieces of material rained down around him, like snow or the feathers of dieing doves. He didn't care anymore, his time was almost up. He just wanted to escape, just wanted to get the hell out of…

His eyes widened in shock. The message written on the roof in bold black writing stomped on his hope like so much fine china. It was the end of the line, and he'd screwed it.

"Congratulations, Jason. You have successfully wasted most, if not all, of your time, following a pointless charade. Rather then looking past yourself, your vanity, like the original clue I gave you, you preferred to take the long way around and avoid it as always. Your time is up, Jason. Game Over."

"NNOOOOOO!" Jason screamed, "NO NO NOOOO!" And in response to his cries, bright lights suddenly blared through car windows. He shielded his eyes from the sudden sharp pain, and bared his teeth.

"No..." he said again, weakly. He winced and peered out the windows, scared but desperate to see what was out there. Two massive metal walls lay on either side of him, just as the CD had described. His car was parked between them, a long corridor of empty space in front of it. The metal piston-walls ended perhaps a hundred meters down; if he got out and ran, he could easily make it.

But he couldn't get out. He squinted at the LCD, at the number flashing there.

"00.00" Zero hour. Midnight. And the roar of starting machines told him what was soon to come.

In his final three minutes, Jason may have been all too happy to sit back and accept it. He'd failed the game. He was pathetic, a life wrecker. But if it hadn't been for the intense self-loathing he'd suddenly been overcome by, he may have never looked in the mirror.

Bloodshot, angry eyes stared back at him from the cars revision mirror. Pasty white skin only enhanced the dark rings below them. His hair was a mess, his lip bleeding from being chewed. How long did he used to spend in front of these things, trying to perfect his appearance? "A cool car needs a cool look," he used to tell himself. Now the voice in his head was telling him something different.

"The CD Sicko was right," Jason-in-the-mirror exclaimed, "you are vain. Never thinking of anyone but yourself. Look at you now; a wreak, about to be crushed up with all the other wrecks. You deserve it."

"SHUT UP!" Jason screamed. His eyes were filling with tears, making his vision blurry. Jason-in-the-mirror was wavering, becoming ghostly.

"You know it's true. You're vain… so vain... always looking at yourself… always caring so much about what others think when they look at you… always… looking… at…"

"Myself," Jason suddenly breathed. "I'm looking at… myself?" And what's more, he was beginning to look past himself now, the Jason-in-the-mirror fading through the tears. The mirror… look past yourself... your vanity… Jesus CHRIST!

Without moment's hesitation, Jason smashed his good fist into the revision mirror. It shattered instantly, and out of the alcove behind it, the ignition key tumbled into his lap. The squeal of pistons was deafening his ears now, the LCD blinking "00:01".

"Go, go, GO!" he screamed, leaping into the drivers seat and plunging the key into its slot. The car gave a purr, a soft click, and then stopped. The battery was almost flat.

"No, move you fucker, MOVE" Jason screamed. He turned the key again. The engine spluttered. "C'mon, c'MON!" The engine whined, coughed, and suddenly roared into life.

"YES!" he screamed with delight. He pressed his foot to the gas, and all of a suddenly the cabin was filled with noxious fumes. Jason's eyes immediately began to water, and he broke into a coughing fit.

"If you wish to start the car, know that there will be trials with that too… one you will find out for yourself… the car is on chocks… you're going to need an awful lot of power to get it over them…"

Mother FUCKER! The bastard somehow rigged it so that the exhaust pumped into the cabin instead of outside. If the pistons didn't get him, he was going to asphyxiate. The sadistic asshole!

But Jason had no choice now. He had to get over the chocks, he had to escape. Covering his mouth with his clothed hand, he put pedal to the metal and gave it all he got.

"CURMON!" he screamed through muffled cloth. The car rose a few centimetres, then stuck. Jason put his hand on the gearstick, switched it to reverse, and hit the gas again. The car flung backwards, up again, and stuck.

'Do it for me this time, baby,' he thought, putting it back into drive. He hit the accelerator, the car jerked forward… and over the chocks.

David whopped with victory, even though the fumes in the car had reached such dangerous levels that he was about to pass out. The car tore down the corridor between the pistons, scraping the sides as Jason struggled to stay conscious.

On the LCD, though he could no longer see it, numbers were flashing.

"00:02…. 00:02…00…03"

As the front half of the vehicle exited the crusher, the two pistons clamped onto the back, halting it in its tracks. Jason, who had neither the thought nor the time to place his seatbelt on earlier, did not stop. His body rocketed forward, following the immense propulsion the car had been travelling at, and struck the windshield.

The shear force of Jason's head hitting the glass rendered him unconsciousness instantly, which in a way was lucky, because his journey had not yet finished. The reinforced glass was no much for such a collision, and Jason's head smashed through in a shower of crystals. His shoulders followed, as did the rest of his body.

Jason sailed nearly seven feet before hitting the ground. He bounced twice on the warehouses hard concrete floor, skidded to a sickening halt, and lay still. Blood flowed from multiple lacerations, and his shoulders bent at a strange angle. Even so, breathe still passed his lips. He was alive, but he'd be a long time awakening.