Sounds echoed in the depths of the corridor, yet they were indistinct and hard to discern.
Within them seemed to be the chilling whistling of the wind, the mumbled whispers, the rhythmically advancing footsteps, and the gunfire.
Everything was mixed together, boundaries had become blurred, and the entire world seemed to be steadily kneaded into a mass where there was no longer a past or present, no left or right—just like this hazy, fog-filled corridor that felt as though it could swallow everything.
The stooped old man, with faltering steps, slowly moved through the corridor, occasionally clanking his large wrench against the pipes on the walls, producing a low and strange clanging sound.
Who am I? Where am I? Where am I supposed to go? Why am I supposed to go there?
The attack had begun... At midnight, it was the Queen's Guard that launched the attack, but specifically, what was the target of the attack? And in which direction?