Opting for the least strenuous path, you approach the small air vent. You tug at the solid grate, a spiderweb of rust marring its metallic surface. Every muscle groans as you exert pressure on the cold, stubborn iron, your breath huffing in the icy air. A resounding clink of triumph echoes in the void when the grate finally gives way, and with sharp, stinging cold biting into your gloved hands, you embark on your claustrophobic journey.
The vent is an ever-narrowing tunnel of steel, each breath echoing back at you as the stale air grows thicker. Your shoulders scrape against the icy metal, and your heart beats loud in your chest, a frantic metronome accompanying the soft whisper of cloth against rust. Every echo fills you with a creeping dread, threatening to shatter your resolve, but you continue your arduous crawl through the cylindrical abyss.
Suddenly, a faint hum reaches your ears - the unforgettable drone of a security camera panning back and forth. A feeling akin to an electric shock shoots through your body; one wrong move and you could be under surveillance. The vent splits into two paths ahead. The one on your left seems to head towards the sound of the camera while the right one appears safer but could potentially lead to a dead-end.
The feeling of time slipping through your fingers, like sand through an hourglass, weighs heavily on your heart. Fear is your sworn enemy now; it sings lullabies in the quiet, trying to lull you into panicked inertia. But you are a thief - a master in the art of choice. All you have to do now is make one.