kulupu wi wawa unu
Feaser opened his eyes. Light was shining through, finishing to rend his sleep. Still laying on his back, he felt around with his hand. He was on grass. He looked up. A blue sky, with sparse clouds. Sighing, he stood up.

A backyard. A backyard, with green grass, a blue sky, a white fence, shining sun, and a suburban house to go with it. And a dozen of pink flamingoes. Plastic, of course. He looked around more, and something felt off. Was it the house... ? It seemed... well it seemed fake. He approached it.

Must be my imagination, he thought. Still, he wondered how and when he got here in this lawn. He went to the house, and knocked on the door. No answer. Ok, something definitely feels off.

Nah, just a normal house. He tried to open the door, but it was locked. Of course, who would keep their door unlocked ? Maybe they're at work. Feaser turned around and looked at the yard again. That's when it hit him.

Oh. This isn't a yard. What he thought was the sky was just a wallpaper. The grass of the yard was fake grass, and the sun was a big lamp. The house was a cutout against the wall.

Was he being detained ? This was his first thought. He rushed to pick up one of the flamingoes, and lifted it up the ground. Surprisingly light, but still sturdy enough to swing around and smash into stuff.

The window cracked but didn't break. He had to swing a few more times before the pink sculpture smashed through. Careful not to cut himself, the young man passed through the opening. Was he in a backstage ? It looked like it. The ground was a mole grey carpet, and the walls and ceiling were built out of composite wood.

He advanced through the area. Electrical wires ran through the room, and lighting was made using projectors. Regularly, on the walls, other windows showed other backyards. Some had pink flamingoes, some had traffic cones, some had elaborate barbeques.

He used that time to remind himself of who he was. His name was Feaser Dertar. He worked at a small convenience store, dreamt of making art for a living. Currently he was dressed with a hawaiian shirt and grey sweatpants. He often thought of himself as a kind person, or at least wished he was, but he often felt guilty over small things. In the end, this had made him complacent. He was not one to fight others for his goals, and trusted others on no basis.

Eventually, he reached something. The passage he had followed split up. Two sets of stairs presented themselves to him : one going up and one going down.

He went downstairs.

>BLACK_CORRIDOR_3 : Yedor Asdaf