You crawl back into the tunnel, as far in as you were before, where it starts to shrink.

You crawl back into the tunnel, as far in as you were before, where it starts to shrink.

How much further is it?

Flashlight in hand, you can see there's still some way to go. This would be so much worse if you were in complete darkness.

Give it to me as a number.

A few metres, probably. Which doesn't sound a lot, but given that you're squeezing through on your belly, that's over ten minutes of hard work.

How close am I to another full-blown panic attack?

Your heart is thumping, breaths are quickening, and your mind is swimming with visions of death. It doesn't look great.

There are two ways to cope with situations like this: tactical breathing, and grounding techniques. Choose one.

Focus on your breathing. (Inhale.)

Cooling breath enters your lungs as you count to four, and inhale: 1 -- 2 -- 3 -- 4.

Now, hold it there for another count of four, before exhaling -- again, to the count of four.

Exhale.

As the breath exfiltrates, blowing past your lips, you feel a palpable sense of relief wash through you. The rest of the tunnel awaits.

Ground yourself.

Appeal to your senses. Identify something that each of them are picking up from the surroundings, let it centre you in place.

What can I hear?

Metres away, the comforting sounds of the Bazaar: vendors pack up their bootlegs for the day, coins are being counted and accidentally dropped, a few kids giggle as they chase each other around the stalls.

Behind it all, the rhythmic thrum of aero-trams passing by overhead, rocking left and right on their wires.

Metres away, the comforting sounds of the Bazaar: vendors alternate yells about discounts, coins spill across wooden tables, and a rollerskater scrapes haphazardly across the stone floor.

Feel around.

Your palms brush against smooth masonry and the occasional protrusion of cold, steel ribbing -- once embedded within, now slightly exposed.

While the surface of this tunnel may crumble, its bones will hold for decades to come -- it is not going to crush you.

Sniff, sniff, sniff.

You stop yourself, remembering how badly it went last time.

Dust particles fill your nostrils and force out a violent sneeze. You bang your head against the floor and ceiling.

Taste the air.

Not pleasant. A combination of damp stone, rusted metal, and an earthiness on the back of the tongue.

The bitter taste of an old dye factory.

Okay, let's do this. (Proceed.)

The tunnel awaits.

You know you have training to deal with situations like this, but the panic clouds your mind. It's just not coming to you...

I've got to focus on getting out of here.

Panicked or not, you are here, in this tunnel. It's not going anywhere -- only you can push yourself through it.

You've tried every technique you know to relax yourself.

Time to show some grit, operant.

You can still try the breathing technique you were taught in training. See if that helps.

No, I've got this. (Decline.)

You can still try the grounding technique you were taught in training. See if that helps.

Your anxiety is manageable, for now. You can take a lot more before a total freakout.

Better crack on with it then. (Move on.)

You prepare to drag yourself horizontally, inch by inch, towards what you hope to be salvation.

With the lights twinkling around your neck you can see there's still some way to go. This would be so much worse if you were in complete darkness.

No idea. All you do know is that it's dark, cramped, and smells of mouldy concrete in here.

I'm not panicking... I'm fine.

The air around you seems to pinch in closer with each inhale. The walls are trying to swallow you whole.

It's all in your head. Inanimate objects definitely cannot eat you.

I need to calm myself down...

The thought bounces around inside your head, desperately trying to find a solution.

Okay, calm... calm... need to keep my cool...

Dissociate to the end.

We're not in an old maintenance tunnel, never were. We can be anywhere we like.

How about a beach?

Golden sands between your toes, soothing waves crawling up and down the shore. A palm tree shades you from the hot sun and there's a slight breeze on your skin.

Everything is still, calm.

You become aware, distantly, of a sensation at the end of your fingertips. You hear a muted wooden creak.

What's this?

The trapdoor at the end of the tunnel, sis. We've been inching you along it this whole time. The gäng delivers.

Thank fuck for that. (Get out.)

Your flashlight illuminates the dark of the disused building as you emerge. After a quick look around, seeing nothing, you find a set of aluminium stairs and climb upwards.

Your twinkle lights illuminate the dark of the disused building as you emerge. After a quick look around, seeing nothing, you find a set of aluminium stairs and climb upwards.

You emerge from the dark of the disused building. After a quick look around, seeing nothing, you find a set of aluminium stairs and climb upwards.

Hoist yourself out.

A cottage in the woods would be lovely.

It is. You're sat outside in a wooden recliner, sipping a hot mug of tea. Bluebirds sing softly as they glide under the leafy canopy above, you spot a few deer grazing between the tree trunks.

Everything is relaxed, calm.

There's no escape for us, Hersh. There's no escape from any of it.

What's that supposed to mean?

The crawlspace. The past. Everyone weu've ever fucked over -- our ex-gäng is at the end of this tunnel, blocking it up so we'll never get out.

Shut up, I need to focus.

You scramble forward blindly. As your outstretched fingertips brush up against the end of the tunnel, you hear a creak above you.

Yes! Okay, that's the trapdoor. I'm free. (Get up.)

You try to push yourself up by your arms but your head bangs against the trapdoor. There's something on top of it, weighing it down. It's stuck.

Something is pressing down on you. Heavy earth.

Scream.

Deafening. It doesn't really help.

Push desperately in every direction.

Left, right, down -- and then upwards, trying to claw your way out of the grave you find yourself in. Suddenly, there's a crash of wood and rusty hinges as you burst through the trapdoor.

The animal is out.

Panting, you illuminate the dark of the disused building as you emerge. After a quick look around, seeing nothing, you find a set of aluminium stairs and climb upwards.

Panting in the dark of the disused building, you fumble around until you find a set of aluminium stairs. Seconds later, you emerge into the lesser dark of the night above.

Panting in the dark of the disused building, you feel around to find a set of aluminium stairs. Seconds later, you emerge into the daylight above.

Let me out of here. I want to get out!

Uh oh, what's that?

Come on, come on. I gotta get out of here.

Don't be dicks. I can back out anytime I want.

We can't. It's too late.

Rationalise your way forward.

This crawlspace was purpose-built for utility access -- by being inside it, you're fulfilling an intended purpose.

It would be physically impossible for a person your size to get stuck in here.

There can't be much further to go...

Judging by the exterior, the distance between the tunnel entrance and the room on the other side can't be more than four metres.

Even less now that I'm already some way in.

You crawl forwards, newly confident. After some minutes, you reach the end of the tunnel and hear the wooden creak of a trapdoor above you.

That's nothing. I can do that!

This hole was made for humans to fit into.

Last you checked, you were still human.

At least the part of you that isn't creature.

But I'm still not meant to be in here.

Any legal permissions and company policies related to accessing this tunnel have already been breached. They can't un-put you in the tunnel, they can only get you out.

Help me out first, try me for my crimes later.

You're already a criminal in many people's eyes anyway. Nothing new -- comes with the job.

Maybe they'll never find out...

Drag yourself out of here fast enough and they won't.

Logic isn't going to get you out of this one.

Your prehistoric ancestors lived in caves and had to crawl through dark tunnels all the time. Therefore, so can you.

We haven't done that for centuries. I need light and open space!

The plains in broad daylight is where you are most vulnerable -- a horrifying winged creature could swoop down and snatch you in its talons at any point.

Unless you run really fast in a zig-zag pattern. But even then...

I'm going to be eaten alive!

Involuntarily, your limbs fly out at all angles, frantically trying to find more space. But there is none.

Why are you doing this? This isn't your role -- it's that technician's.

DELEGATE MANUAL LABOUR TO THE APPROPRIATE UNIT OF THE WORKFORCE.

This would be a lot less scary if you brought a light...

Is it just me, or it getting hard to breathe?

There's limited oxygen in this small space. You've already sucked up most of it, huffing and puffing as you drag yourself along the ground.

None of them were claustrophobic?

Any of your subspecies that had a crippling fear of tight spaces would have been left behind, and probably died alone. You are not related to those losers.

Cave-people didn't crawl into a dark hole and call it home. They constructed shelters in the mouths of caves -- where it's light.

I've gone in too deep!

I don't think that's how it works...

That's not the right attitude. Have you forgotten? You're stuck in a tunnel, unable to get out. You should be panicking.

Fuck this! I'm out of here! [Leave.]

You scrabble backwards, the rough walls of the crawlspace scraping against you as you retreat.

Nope. Fuck this. I'm backing out of here. [Leave.]

In no time at all, you manage to shimmy backwards through the tunnel and emerge back outside.

You crawl back into the tunnel, as far in as you were before. Your elbows and shoulders bump clumsily against the walls.

Pull your arms in close. Press your belly to the ground.

Shrink yourself.

Have you forgot you're wearing a giant mascot head? No, that's not possible.

Stop. Take a deep breath.

Warm air circulates inside your restrictive headwear, only making you hotter and more uncomfortable.

It's tight as hell in here. But don't panic, sis, the gäng has got you.

It's tight as hell in here -- but don't panic, sis, we're definitely not panicking. Stop panicking!

Cool, damp air fills your lungs.

You taste concrete dust on the back of your tongue.

Stretch an arm ahead of you and feel around.

Your shoulder cramps as you trail your fingers along the ceiling, the walls. The path ahead feels the same as what you've crawled through so far.

Looping. Narrowing. Neverending.

Crawl onwards.

Your head gear catches on a roughened patch of the concrete ceiling.

A strand of your hair catches on a roughened patch of the concrete ceiling.

Soon it will be scraping against your scalp.

Wiggle back. [Retreat.]

Have you forgot you're wearing a giant cleaning crew outfit? No, that's not possible.

Operant CASCADE is ready for advancement, one slither forward at a time.

The tunnel would be black as pitch but the flashlight in your hand illuminates the path ahead. Cobwebs stick to your face and hair as you push through them.

As you inch forward your elbows and shoulders bump clumsily against the walls.

Would be a lot easier to see if you didn't have this massive foam thing over your head.

The tunnel is getting narrower.

Would be a lot easier to see if you didn't have a paper bag over your head.

The tunnel would be black as pitch but the twinkling lights around your neck give it a welcoming glow. Cobwebs stick to your face and hair as you push through them.

The tunnel is black as pitch. Cobwebs stick to your face and hair as you push through them, deeper into the darkness.

Can I see anything?

When I get out of here, I'm burning these clothes.

A sacrifice in the line of duty.

Having this mascot head on probably isn't helping.

It's not helping, no, but it's so dark in here that it doesn't make much difference to visibility.

Having a paper bag over my head probably isn't helping.