The Institute (48)

The further the players walked, the heavier the air around them became, pressing against their heads and compressing the air in their lungs as if they were being squeezed with an invisible hand. The floor beneath their feet was still muddy and damp, a sludge-like base sticking tenaciously against the bottom of their shoes and pulling them back with every step. They were like insects trapped in a fly trap, the harder they struggled, the harder it was to move.

The smell of rancid blood entwined with expired chemicals constantly lingered at their noses and many of the players turned green with nausea as they struggled to swallow down the rising vomit in their throats.

Chu Yi and the others trailed in the middle of the group, feeling the wet surface sometimes splashing against his ankles with heavy disgust. This was could be regarded as exposure therapy, the cleanliness streak in his bones would probably be wiped out by the continuous lowering of his bottom line.