[ WP ] You wake up in a strange place and you hear your favorite Nintendo game music playing . What is your adventure ?

*Note: * I took some small liberties with the prompt. **Critiques welcome. ** 
 
 From blackness, a voice: 
 
 “ Help me… Please help me… I ’ m a prisoner… dungeon of the castle. My name is… “ 
 
 The voice drifts away into dream and haze, then returns. 
 
 “ …wizard has done something… “ 
 
 The voice ( thin, high ) fades out and in again. 
 
 “ …other missing girls. Now only I— ” 
 
 KRAKABOOM! 
 
 I startle awake in my chair, looking around. My cubicle. ( A cubicle? Since when? ) My tea-stained mug ( who gave that to me? ), my keyboard and its crumbs. My secondhand office chair, lumpy and torn. ( Did the office actually give me this? ) I struggle to recall what company I work for. A—bookstore, was it? That sounds right. Then how did I get here, in this cubicle farm? 
 
 SSSSSHRAKOOM! 
 
 Lightning and simultaneous thunder shake the office floor. A second flash, and then the lights go out. Pure dark. 
 
 I start to stand, slam my knee into some hard edge under the desk. Swear words come to mind, but all that comes out is a growl of random syllables. I ’ m clutching my knee and trying to stand on one leg, so I jerk and nearly fall over when a man ’ s voice addresses me. 
 
 “ Hey, Link— “ 
 
 Link? 
 
 “ —I ’ m going downstairs for a bit. No need to worry, I ’ ll be back before long. ” 
 
 I limp an about face and wince into a flashlight beam, raise my hand to shield my eyes. The light lowers and I see a mustached, balding man with a doting grin. 
 
 “ Sorry, ” he says. “ I ’ ll be right back, just gon na see if someone ’ s still down in maintenance. You stay here, if the power comes back on you can keep working on the report without me. Or, y ’ know, go back to napping. ” 
 
 He winks, fatherly, and walks away down the carpeted hall, disappears around a corner. I sit back down in the dark, massaging my knee. Who was he? Should I know him? He spoke like he knew me. Jerry, my mind says. Everyone calls him “ Uncle Jerry ”. It ’ s because of the mustache. Weird. 
 
 Wait. I can ’ t stay here in the dark. I pull open my desk drawers one by one, use the periodic lightning flashes to see their contents. Second try, I find a flashlight. Perfect. I get up, I stick my head up out of my cubicle and look around. The other workspaces are all empty. Great. Well, maybe I can find the vending machine and take all the Snickers. 
 
 Stupid! I realize when I get to them. The power ’ s out. Of course they don ’ t work! 
 
 Alright, alright. I clutch my flashlight and head past the elevators toward the stairs. Damned if I ’ m gon na stay up here waiting for Jerry. I ’ ll just catch up with him downstairs, tell him I ’ m done for the night, gon na go home. He ’ ll understand. Heck, he ’ ll probably head out, too. 
 
 I push open the door to the stairwell, hear the noise echo down the lightless concrete shaft. Something about it makes me shiver. Whatever. It ’ s just the dark, the lack of electricity and people. I shine the flashlight ahead of me and pick my way down the stairs. I can hear the slow drip of water, and pointing my beam out into the empty space between flights, I glimpse something glinting as it falls. A roof leak, I bet. Continue on. 
 
 Seven flights down, I reach bottom. The floor is slick with water and my footsteps splash and echo. The flashlight plays off of wet surfaces. Only one way to go—but wasn ’ t the corridor shorter last time I came through? 
 
 Something moans in the darkness, and I freeze, then inch forward, sweeping ahead with my light. There, in a heap against the wall: someone! 
 
 Carefully, I sidle up. It ’ s Jerry, slumped where the floor meets the wall. He ’ s holding something tight to him—looks like a piece of office shelving. His other hand rests on a crowbar that ’ s lying on the wet floor. 
 
 “ Jerry? ” 
 
 “ Wh-who? That voice…Link? ” Jerry coughs out a laugh. “ Thought I said to stay upstairs. ” 
 
 “ I got, I dunno, scared. Bored. ” 
 
 “ Ah, well…Guess you can ’ t…escape who you are. ” He coughs again, and I notice the blood coloring his shirt. “ Link…take the…the crowbar. And my shield…do what I couldn ’ t…rescue…her. ” 
 
 Jerry ’ s head lolls as he goes unconscious. I check his pulse, get it faint but there. I don ’ t know anything about wounds, so I just make sure he ’ s comfortable and not bleeding too much. 
 
 Then I look down at the “ shield ” and crowbar. What the hell was Jerry talking about? Sigh. I pick up his “ gfits ” and stand, flashlight seeking the door to the lobby. It ’ s not there. Instead, down the hall, a strange, old-looking door, like you might see in a fantasy video game. I ready the crowbar and shelf-shield, and step slowly down the hall.
