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The first pale light of dawn cracks across the razor-edged peaks. You come to on a slab of cold, damp stone. Before you, a grotesque pantomime of affection plays out: figures with faces frozen in ecstatic grins are wrapping others in tender, strangling holds. One victim is being petted with unsettling devotion; another fights against a bliss they cannot feel. Scrawled in frantic letters on the rock is a single warning: 'YOU CAN'T LEAVE.' A spike of pure fear shoots through your veins. Your hand finds the familiar, rough-hewn grip of a wooden bat—your solitary comfort.