The keys jingled in the coat pocket as I moved forward, shoulders tense, eyes sweeping every inch of the shadowed path. The internal structure of that damned place felt more like the intestines of stone and metal than any rational construction.
Corridors bent at unnatural angles. Doors opened into rooms either too small, too large, or just wrong—filled with the stench of old despair and blood-faded runes.
I passed a side wing where three glass tanks bubbled with an amber liquid. Inside, organic masses floated: bundles of preserved nerves, perhaps, or full brains, each connected to runic crystals embedded at the base of the tanks.
One of the glasses was cracked. A red rune glowed faintly, like it was begging for silence. Or mercy.
[Insight Gained: Illegal Memory Preservation Unit]
→ Status: Active
→ Ethics: Non-compliant
→ Alert Level: System Recommends Documentation – Equipment Missing
Perfect. As if I had a damn camera in my pocket.
