You stay in place in the mail cart, anticipating that it will eventually be whisked back downstairs in the elevator and you will be brought to safety on the streets of Worcester. But you get bored after two hours (you fucking loser) and so you gnaw a hole in the fabric on the side of the mail cart, the metal disturbing your fillings only twice. You use your hands as paddles to push yourself and the cart towards the elevator.

 Someone shouts, "Hey, where's the mail cart going?" and you quickly pull your arms back inside the cart.

If you make a break for it in the cart, turn to Page 8.

 

If you stop dead in your tracks, turn to Page 54.