White Nightmare
Control
The mouse darted through shadowy corridors, claws clicking against ancient stone as it vanished into cracks too narrow for predators to follow. Its whiskers quivered—not with fear, but anticipation. Every crumb here told a story: a dropped ration pack from the fortress guards, a smear of grease near the alchemist’s workshop, the faint tang of gunpowder beneath rusted pipes. Survival demanded more than speed; it required reading the whispers of this war-trenched world. Tonight, the scent of smoked cheese lured it toward the armory, where forgotten prototypes hummed with unstable energy. One spark, one misplaced bite, and the entire sector could detonate. Perfect. The humans called them pests. They never learned—mice didn’t steal. They *upgraded.*
Description
Seems straightforward, right? Spot the pure white tiles. But it’s tougher than you think—telling the real white apart? Nearly impossible.
