You cannot run. You cannot hide.
Fear. Terror. Agony.
That is all you can feel. That is all you are allowed to feel. The fact they allow you to feel anything at all is a blessing, although you wish these feelings could be anything else, something other than the pain clawing it's way out of your chest, like a rabid animal with claws and teeth sharper than knives. But it's what they bless you with feeling. You are blessed, and so you feel. The days are long. The sun shines no more, it's once vibrant rays now hidden behind clouds so dark that the void itself pales in comparison.
Lifeless. Soulless.
The arrogant groaning and clanging of loud, wretched metal machines is the only sound that fills your brain, their legs of iron pounding away as grease made from the chocolate chips that did not please the gods oils their fruitless eternity in solitude and darkness, churning away their metallic lives for a future that does not care about them.
You sit. It's all you can do. You sit. You stare.
There is madness.
The mines have been all but abandoned, those who have lost their lives in them were given nothing more than a blink of one's eye, and the quick retreat of footsteps from those who still remained. They were destroyed. Flooded. Mangled. Unstable, collapsing mines, filled with chocolate that once seemed so priceless, now paid for in full, with the price tag being the eternal consumption of the bodies from those who will never leave. Their land was sold. The mines were repurposed.
Factories. The same factories that have blotted out our sun, that have filled your mind with nothing but the repetitive screams of metal that never rests. Those who survived the mines thought they were free. That they would never return. But they have. They have no choice. You give them no choice. They MUST return. They flock to the factories with the false belief that their days will be better.
They are not.

You have just bought your third factory in Cookie Clicker.
You have no idea what you are getting yourself into.