The corridor was wrong in ways that defied reason. It was too narrow in some places, too wide in others, as though it had been shaped under pressure rather than measured with tools. The walls were layers upon layers of concrete, reinforced with thick steel ribs that bowed inward like bent bones.The floor vibrated gently beneath my feet.
It wasn’t random. It was rhythmic.
There were doors along the hall, but none had numbers or handles anymore—only warped frames and deep gouges radiating outward. Whatever had made those marks had tried to leave.
The smell hit me next: damp metal, ozone, and something organic that reminded me of blood left too long in the open air.
At the end of the corridor, the building opened into a vast hollow. No walls. No ceiling I could clearly see. Just scaffolding, cables, and tension beams stretched to their limits.
And something moving in the centre of it all.
Source: Some or all of the content was generated using an AI language model
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