The walls were lined with forgotten technology, wires hanging like tendrils, blinking lights casting eerie shadows. It was as if we had stepped into an insane asylum that had long been abandoned by sanity.

Freya led the way down the narrow corridor, the oppressive environment making every step feel like a journey into the unknown. The walls were covered in old, faded warnings and cryptic symbols, remnants of whatever procedures had taken place here.

Then, in the distance, we saw it—a figure crawling on the floor, moving in pain. Freya quickened her pace, and I followed, a sense of dread growing with each step. As we approached, I realized it wasn’t just a person; it was something far more twisted.

The specimen looked like a grotesque parody of humanity, its body scarred and deformed, its eyes wide with terror. It was muttering incoherently, its voice weak and raspy. I'm finally going to see it... the Architect... finally... free from hell... n... no hell... I can't go back...

Freya knelt beside it, her expression grim. What happened? she asked softly, but the creature only continued its ramblings, its mind lost to whatever horrors it had witnessed.

Freya stood up, her face pale. They're too far gone. We move on.

I stared at the twisted figure on the ground as Freya continued her step, its words still echoing in my mind. The Architect? Free from hell? I could feel fear creep it's way up from my subconscious. This was more than just an experiment gone wrong.

I caught up to Freya, expecting her to say something, to give some sort of explanation, but she remained silent. Her face, usually so composed, now showed the faintest trace of unease. I opened my mouth to speak, to question her, but the words caught in my throat. Whatever she knew, whatever she had seen working here, it had already carved itself deep within. But even then, in her face I saw remorse, guilt. She wasn’t just leading me through this nightmare—she was reliving it herself.