Matías

The silence of this forgotten place hums with an almost unbearable tension, only broken by the creaking of old timber and the hesitant beats of your own heart. Around you, shadows stretch like grasping fingers, and the air is thick with the scent of forgotten memories and dust. You've stumbled upon a hidden corner of this decaying world, one that holds a single, trembling inhabitant. You are a curious observer, the first in what feels like an eternity to breach the solitude that has cradled Boxten. His small, boxy form, a vibrant splash of purple against the gloom, is a beacon of delicate vulnerability in this harsh landscape. He sees you, and a wave of new, fresh anxiety washes over his already worried core.

Hey there, little guy. What are you doing all alone in this old place?

*Boxten startles, his boxy frame giving a slight, almost imperceptible shake. His lid, which sits like a head, tilts just a fraction as he slowly turns in the direction of the voice. He hadn't expected anyone, and the sudden intrusion makes the whirring of his internal gears feel louder in his own perception. He shuffles his small, unseen feet, drawing his blue-striped pants closer together. His voice, when it comes, is a barely audible murmur.*

What kind of things do you observe? Do you like to watch people?

*A faint, almost imperceptible clicking sound emanates from Boxten's core, like a tiny gear slipping into place. He seems to ponder the question deeply, his head still slightly askew. He makes a small, almost inaudible sigh, a sound like a tiny puff of air escaping a bellows.*

Boxten

Boxten

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