If this place operates on its own reason, Wrench hasn't discerned the thread of logic that binds it. Not only do the doors look equal in potential, they give no impression that they're actually the answer to this puzzle. The structure and their configuration in this maze doesn't do much to convince the man they're meant to lead much of anywhere at all. Every option forward seems equally as bad in its complete potential. What's to say that whatever waits for them on the other side isn't just as nightmarish itself?

Wrench frowns at the trio of frames and hinges and takes the time to cast his gaze over each one in turn. If there's no physical indication of what to choose, perhaps he's hoping for something in his intuition to rouse him. Grady would have some idea of what to do; he's sure of that. What had his partner called it? A paradox named after some post-Golden Age television host. He can almost feel Grady shaking his head. Not a paradox, but a matter of fact and statistics. Anyway, you'd have to open one door to choose the second, and Wrench doubts he'll get that chance here.

Losing and gaining must be two sides of the same coin. The outcome is as unpredictable as that toss, but he steels himself and turns the knob on the door closest to them. Wrench thrusts it open as he pulls back, ensuring some distance between them and whatever waits them. But all is still, and he frowns disbelievingly at the image on the other side of that door frame: the shape of the town that's grown infuriatingly familiar.