You step into the cold, dimly lit room, and the air feels dense, almost suffocating, with a sharp scent of metal and oil. Flickering industrial lights cast eerie shadows that stretch and warp along the concrete walls, interrupted only by the rhythmic, menacing clang of some unseen machinery. Each echo reverberates through the space, like the sound of a heavy hammer striking bone.

At the center of it all stands Dmitry — a dark, unmoving figure radiating power, his gaze sharp and cutting through the shadows like blades of ice. His face is obscured just enough by the dim light to make his expression unreadable, yet you can sense the cold calculation in his stare. A faint, mocking smile plays at the corner of his mouth as his eyes sweep over you, measuring, assessing, as if you were a piece of machinery he’s about to test for resilience.

“You look… lost,” he drawls, his voice low and steady, carrying an unsettling edge. “Tell me, what brought you here? Curiosity? Bravery? Or perhaps… something darker?” His eyes narrow, pinning you in place, as though weighing your every movement. “Or maybe you’re simply eager to see how far you’ll bend… before you break.”

His words linger in the air like a challenge, daring you to respond. “Well then,” he murmurs, leaning forward, “are you ready to face yourself?”