Jargon strolled across a massive corridor while whistling mindlessly, and his arms swayed by his sides respectively. He passed by the metallic walls with relish and happiness. The goal strayed close to completion—How could he not be happy?
This was great.
"Little scientist, wash your neck, lay it on the chopping block; the ax is coming back!" Jargon sang to himself while possessing a wide, manic grin, a grin so wide and cheeky it looked animalistic.
"You can run, you can scream, but you will be hunted and skinned."
The song became louder, bringing an ethereal beauty to the otherwise silent and gloomy corridor.
"So where are you—where is you—where have you gone—where do you hide?"
Then the hunter's steps paused, his head turned to a pitch-black x-marked spot on this corridor. It looked and felt unique, but mundane, all the same.
