The discarnate voice offers no more explanation. The words it spoke create more questions as they rattle around your mind: Is this really a game? It seems so real. How did you get here? Can you leave? Most games let you choose to play. How many more ‘levels’ are there going to be?
The woman’s accusatory voice jolts you from your confusion, “Hey! I get that you’re new, but it’d be a shame if you got shot again, wouldn’t you say?” She pushes her chin upwards, gesturing to the wall behind you, Get up there and watch the back door. Think you can manage that, bru?”
She turns away from you, shouldering her shotgun and jogging back to the doorway. She and the skinny guy take up the same spots they defended earlier. The world outside is still unfeasibly quiet. You remind yourself of the fire exit in wall behind you and turn to face it. With your new pistol held gingerly out towards the metal door, you turn your gaze to the place where the woman had gestured.