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xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxᴛʜᴇ sᴏғᴛ ᴇᴄʜᴏ
                                                                     sᴛᴀʀᴛ                                                                         ғɪɴɪsʜ
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                                                                                            ᴄʜᴏɪᴄᴇ   ᴄʜᴏɪᴄᴇ               ᴄʜᴏɪᴄᴇ

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                                    ʜᴜʀʀʏ ᴜᴘ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴀʟʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʀʏ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴇᴅɢᴇ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏᴘᴇ ғᴀʟʟs.


                              Moving your arms in quick, wide motions, you swing your body up in leaps. The ache in your muscles, you ignore, and you can
                              see the bricks holding the iron bars and rope in place in the ceiling shift more and more each time you scramble a little higher --
                              but you only need a few more moments!

                              The ledge comes within reach, and you waste no time before extending a hand towards it.

                              However, this is the moment it all goes horribly wrong.

                              The rope gives way, and begins to fall. The bricks holding the iron bars in place that the rope is tied to have completely come
                              loose from the ceiling, and they, along with a small assortment of rubble, erupt from the ceiling, ripped down by your weight.

                              Your hand almost makes it to the ledge in time, but almost doesn't cut it.

                              ...

                              Your eyes widen and your mouth flies open as you realise you're about to fall to the floor below, with nothing in your way to catch
                              you before you hit it.

                              The moment stretches, and you shut your eyes, knowing your fate, before something grasps your outstretched arm at the
                              wrist.

                              "Aeugh!" someone cries out above you, before your body abruptly stops falling. Their hand is clamps down on your wrist like an
                              iron vice, and they hang out from the opening in the broken wall, laying on their stomach, bracing themselves as much as possible
                              so they don't get pulled out of the opening.

                              The bricks, iron bars, and the last of the rope fly past the back of your head, narrowly missing you, as the remaining dust and
                              rubble pelts the top of your head.

                              "D-don't move!!" the person orders, quickly grasping your wrist with their other hand as well.

                              After a moment where their body slides out of the opening a little, the person finally manages to brace their legs in such a way
                              that they stop moving. With them now holding you securely in place, you grasp their wrists with both hands in return. The
                              iron bars and bricks slam into the floor below, sounding a powerful stone-and-metal slam that travels throughout the structure.

                              ...

                              Another moment passes, where the person begins trying to think of how best to orient themselves to be able to pull you up. Then,
                              from a distant part of the structure, another echo sounds: "D-don't move!!", followed by a stone-and-metal slam. The echo is
                              almost perfect, though it sounds warped in a way that is hard to pin down.

                              Quietly, the person moves their legs under them, trying to get into a position to pull you up the ledge. They manage to get their
                              knees under their stomach, then rise onto one foot, before heaving backwards, pulling you up. You hold their wrists painfully
                              tight, and together you make a controlled effort up into the opening.

                              ...

                              Once clear of the opening, you roll onto your side on the newly arrived floor, your arms now well and truly in pain as the muscles
                              protest any further movement.

                              The stranger leans back after releasing you, reclining against their backside and their palms, with their eyes shut and their mouth
                              openly inhaling after the effort.

                              Your breathing quickly begins to match theirs, as your body feels unfit and underprepared for the physical trial you've just endured.

                              You get a good look at the stranger -- they're a young adult male, with dark-red, almost black hair, a slim build, and old-looking
                              clothes beneath a thin, but protective brown leather chestguard, with belts securing it against a similar backplate on his back. His
                              clothes look soaked, and there's dirt all over his face and hands.

                              ...

                              After some moments, the stranger rises to their feet, and offers you their hand one more time to help you up.

                              You don't take it right away; your body pleads with you to rest longer, but ultimately you push it to lift itself up with the stranger's
                              help.

                              "You..." the stranger's breathing is still a bit uneven, "Did you wake up here, too? We can help eachother find a way
                              out..."

                              You don't answer, yet.

                              A question quietly strikes you, deep inside. Should you trust this person? On one hand, you don't know them, and are unsure of
                              how trustworthy they may be. They may have been the one to throw you into this place to start with. On the other, they did just
                              risk being ripped out of the opening in the wall and thrown a dozen or so metres straight down. A broken leg in this place would
                              guarantee a person's fate.

                              "Don't -- don't trust the echoes..." the stranger advises, visibly concerned, and still yet to fully catch their breath.

                              "Don't follow them... " he pleads.

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                              ᴛʀᴜsᴛ ᴛʜᴇ sᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ ғᴏʀ ɴᴏᴡ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʜᴇʟᴘ ɪɴ ғɪɴᴅɪɴɢ ᴀ ᴡᴀʏ ᴏᴜᴛ.

                                   ᴏʀ

                              ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴛʀᴜsᴛ ᴛʜᴇ sᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴇʟʟ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ʏᴏᴜ'ᴅ ᴘʀᴇғᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ᴀᴄᴛ ᴀʟᴏɴᴇ.

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