To ensure they wouldn’t get turned around in the labyrinthine layout of the facility, the two friends established a strict rule: always follow the sound, and never take a turn without marking it. As they advanced deeper into the subterranean ghost station, the environment grew increasingly unsettling.
The automated emergency ventilation blast valves inside the concrete walls had all violently slammed shut, completely sealing the rooms off from the central corridor. Stranger still were the walls themselves. At regular intervals, they passed sections of concrete covered in uniform, hammer-punched holes—structural stress-test points. The deeper they walked, the more oppressive the atmosphere became.
The chemical smell was growing stronger, smelling faintly of sulfur and scorched metal. The ambient temperature was rising the further they ventured in, causing sweat to bead on their foreheads. Suddenly, they rounded a long bend in the corridor and stopped dead. The layout ahead was visibly warped. The heavy iron support beams lining the ceiling were bending downward.