Sounds echoed in the depths of the corridor, yet were ethereal and indistinct.
Within them seemed to be the sound of a biting cold wind, a babble of mumbled whispers, and the concentrated pounding of footsteps, as well as gunshots.
All was a jumble, all had lost their clear boundaries, the entire world as if being slowly kneaded into a mass, devoid of direction and time—much like this dimly-lit corridor filled with mist, as if capable of swallowing everything.
The stooped old man, shuffling along with unsteady steps, slowly made his way through the corridor, occasionally striking nearby pipes on the wall with the large wrench in his hand, producing a low and peculiar clanging sound.
Who am I? Where is this place? Where am I going? Why am I going there?
The attack had begun... at midnight, it was time for the Queen's Guard to launch their assault, but on what? And in which direction should they attack?
