Virvix Prison Of Portals

The prisoner incorporates in the... center? Of a room? It is hard for the prisoner to orient themselves here, for there are twelve, hard, iron-cold surfaces in this ambient gold light, and if gravity tells the prisoner, "the surface you are standing on is the floor, above you is the ceiling," then what does that mean, when every surface is identical? Are the edges of these facets floor lines, wall lines, or ceiling lines? Never the less, each edge glows dully for the most part, then more brightly at its midpoint and its corners; a charted constellation of fifty soft, white lights. The portals. Each leading to a space, if they lead to another space, indistinguishable from the first. An identical pattern of footprints is etched into each surface, ten paths of... Desperation? Hope? Futility? Upon sentencing, each prisoner is only ever told that one portal leads to freedom. No prisoner is given time to read the Warden's face for clues of honesty or insincerity. And the Warden's gaze never drifts to the small, pyrite dodecahedron to one side of their seat.

--Cyanocitta