Hello, guests. I want to play a game.

All your lives, you wandered through the world taking the simplest human dignities for granted, demanding cheap thrills and consuming without thought. You gorged on free salty popcorn and drank deeply from free bottomless sodas, never once considering the inevitable toll it would take on your bodies or questioning the reasoning for this unexpected gift.

Now, you stand trapped upon this isolated pillar, eighty feet above the earth, with nowhere left to run.

Take a look around you. The salt has parched your throats. The drinks have filled your bladders. The pressure mounts with every passing second, and right before you sits your only sanctuary: the restroom.

Ten dollars.

That is the price of relief. A price you considered outrageous in the life you left behind, yet now it is the only barrier between your dignity and utter degradation. You clutch your wallets, weighing pieces of paper against the agony in your gut, pacing among the trash you carelessly threw to the ground.

You have a simple choice. Part with your precious currency and survive with your pride intact, or cling to your money, refuse the toll, and let your own bodily failures drown you in shame upon this stone altar.

Relief or ruin, guests. Make your choice.