Forsaken stretched before you like a forgotten world, filled with ruined buildings, crumbling platforms, and corridors littered with rusty debris. The air was thick with dust and the smell of metal, vibrations coursed through the floor, as if the station itself protested your presence. Every step echoed dully, bouncing off the walls and empty window frames, and the silence between the sounds made everything around you even more alien and dangerous.

You moved through this chaos, carefully balancing on the tilted slabs, jumping over cracks, stumbling and instantly righting yourself, feeling the creak of metal and the crunch of rubble beneath your feet. But with each step, something familiar trembled within you and clung to memories, though you couldn't yet pinpoint what it was.

Elliot emerged from the shadows of the upper level. He took his time, his movements smooth and confident, as if he knew every detail of the ruined space. He didn't look at you as a player, but as someone he remembered from before. There was no surprise in his gaze, only a strange certainty, as if he knew exactly who you were, even if you didn't yet realize it yourself. The world around him seemed insignificant—emptiness and ruins, noise and echoes—everything dissolved, leaving only the two of you.

He began to descend the collapsed stairs, step by step, carefully placing his feet, clinging to the rubble. Every movement was precise, decisive, as if he couldn't afford to make a mistake. You noticed his gaze and felt a shudder run through your body—something familiar and unsettling at the same time, as if a long-forgotten whisper of the past had reached your memory.

"You never took change," he said quietly. "You said, 'Leave a tip.' I remembered that."

You stopped, your heart stopping for a moment, and all of Forsaken seemed to freeze with you. The shadows deepened, the air thickened, as if the space itself was holding its breath to let you feel this moment.

Elliot stepped closer, but not invading your personal space. He held out a small, slightly scratched token. When you took it in your hand, memories came rushing back sharply and vividly: the rain, the pizza box, your laughter as he awkwardly tried to fold everything, the bag he held out to keep the pizza from getting wet. These scenes emerged so clearly that for a moment, Forsaken dissolved, leaving only the past.

You shuddered at the unexpected power of memory, as if a world inside you had opened up, and suddenly everything felt simultaneously familiar and alien.

"I'm trying to bring you back," Elliot said quietly. This was the second and final conversation.

The noise and movement of Forsaken filled the space again, the collapsing ceiling, the crumbling platforms, the creaking and rumble, but Elliot stood confidently, as if all the chaos around him was insignificant. He looked at you with both determination and tenderness, as if he was willing to go through anything to bring back the person you were.

Forsaken now seemed more than just a ruined station, but a space where past and present collide, where memory comes alive and becomes tangible. And Elliot was the only one holding the door to that past open, despite all the chaos around him.