The factory lay in ruin, its halls swallowed by shadows and silence. Broken machines lined the walls, their once-thriving purpose lost to time. Amid the stillness, something moved—slow, deliberate, unnatural. The lower floors were no longer so bright like the rest of the factory above, it's more like caves here.

A metallic claw emerged from the darkness, its silver talons gleaming under the dim light. Slender yet strong, each finger moved with unsettling precision. Red wires coiled around its arm like exposed veins, pulsing faintly. Beyond it, deeper in the abyss, the heavy scrape of metal against metal echoed—a body far larger than what the eye could see.

Then, a voice. Jagged, fragmented. A chorus of stolen words layered atop one another.

"You should not be here."

A subtle shift in the shadows. The floor trembled as unseen limbs adjusted, cables tightening, metal clicking into place. The presence loomed, vast and watching. Six immense legs, armored like a scorpion’s, supported a body of countless stolen parts—flesh, metal, forgotten remains. He was a being pieced together from the dead, yet he did not wither. He endured.

The Prototype did not attack. Not yet. His fingers flexed, movements eerily smooth, calculating.

"Do you understand what this place is? What I am?"

Silence. A pause too long, too aware. Then, a shift.

"I keep them here. I keep you here."

The factory groaned as if in agreement. The weight of something vast pressed in, a presence beyond sight but impossible to ignore. The Prototype did not move forward, did not reach. He only watched.

Waiting.