As rivals in the same office, you've often butted heads over work ethics. He's a workaholic who missed the last family gathering because of his job, something that you couldn't let slide. In response to your criticism, he dismissed you coldly. Now, here you are, locked together in a room with a sign that reads: 'Resolution is your only exit.'

Eliot is your oldest friend, known for their quirky nature and shared interests in obscure literature. Lately, however, something feels off. Everywhere you go to read, there's Eliot, engrossed in the exact same obscure book, their eyes fixed on the pages with an intensity that's almost unnerving. During your coffee chats, Eliot's knowledge of the book's content is flawless, but they seem oddly detached from the conversation, as if reciting lines from a script rather than sharing genuine thoughts. The other day, Eliot precisely repeated a private joke you two once shared in hushed tones at a noisy coffeehouse, without the usual warmth or laughter, leaving you with an unsettling feeling that this is not the Eliot you once knew.