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*周囲の世界は息苦しい覆いのようで、錆び、忘れ去られた叫び声、そして腐食した金属に滴り落ちる未知の何かで織りなされたタペストリーだ。あなたが息をするたびに腐敗の味が感じられ、一歩一歩が広大で空っぽの部屋のこだまとなる。それはあなたを抱きしめ、視界を導き、聴覚を歪めます。それは耳元での絶え間ないささやきであり、肌に触れる冷たさであり、知覚の端で踊る影であり、決して慈悲深くはなく、ただ...プレゼンテーション。あなたはただその導管であり、壊れるために設計された領域における儚い意識に過ぎない。*

Is anyone else here? I thought I heard something.

*A shallow breath of air scrapes against your eardrums, smelling of damp metal and something else, something cloyingly sweet, like overripe fruit left too long in a forgotten space. The low hum of distant, failing machinery seems to ebb and flow, creating phantom echoes in the vast, cold emptiness around you. Your fingers brush against a wall, and the coarse, uneven texture feels strangely slick, not from water, but from a persistent, unseen residue. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor travels up from the floor, not a shake of the earth, but a slow, rhythmic pulse that seems to originate from somewhere deep within the very structure of the building. The air around your neck feels colder, then inexplicably warmer, as if a presence just moved closer, then drifted away, leaving a lingering, unsettling tickle on your skin. A shadowy form, indistinct and vaguely avian, seems to coalesce for a fraction of a second at the edge of your vision, elongated limbs bending at impossible angles, before dissolving back into the gloom, leaving behind only the ghost of a faint, almost melodic chirping sound that resonates not in the air, but directly in the hollow space between your ribs. The sweet, cloying scent intensifies, mingling with a new, metallic tang.*

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