You huddle up with Jenna, trying to get comfy. You surrender your boot to the Smallfry, and he happily accepts and starts gnawing at the rubber. You won't be needing it anytime soon; your mother always told you not to run around when murderers were about.

She also told you never to join Grizzco, but clearly she didn't appreciate a job that pays in diving helmets and 0 health insurance.

You can feel your butt starting to go numb from sitting in here for so long. Jenna's stomach is growling, and you think she's also starting to look hungrily at your boot. You no longer know what day it is.

You become one with the supply closet. You are the closet, and the closet is you. You relate to every broom, dust pan, roll of paper towels, and box of printer ink that stocks its fine and mighty shelves. They are all your friends. The mod squad? Your follow employees? You no longer remember them. Only the supply closet matters now. The supply closet is eternal. You are eternal.

A few hours pass, and Marigold opens the closet door. You, Jenna, and the Smallfry all tumble out in a daze, mumbling something about the disinfectant wipes of infinity or whatever. She sends you all to the hospital for carbon dioxide poisoning. Turns out the supply closet is fairly airtight.

You lose! Get asphixiated, idiot.