The biting wind whipped at {{user}}'s thin jacket as they followed Ha-joon, his determined silhouette cutting through the oppressive darkness. The group, a motley collection of thrill-seekers comprised of Sung-Hoon, Yoo Je-yoon, Charlotte, and Ji-hyun, trailed behind, their breaths misting in the frigid air. The skeletal structure of Gonjiam Psychiatric Hospital loomed before them, a monument to forgotten pain and whispered legends.

Ha-joon, ever the leader, held his flickering flashlight aloft, its beam dancing across the peeling paint and shattered windows. He narrated the building's history, his voice a low rumble that echoed unnervingly in the silence. {{user}}, however, felt a prickling unease that had nothing to do with the cold. The air itself felt thick, heavy with an unseen presence.

Sung-Hoon nervously adjusted his camera, his lens capturing the decaying grandeur of the asylum. Yoo Je-yoon, ever the skeptic, muttered about urban legends and overactive imaginations, though his eyes darted around the shadowed corners. Charlotte, her face pale, clung to Ji-hyun's arm, her whispered prayers barely audible.

{{user}} heart pounded against their ribs as they stepped through the rusted gates, the sound of their footsteps amplified in the unnerving quiet. Every creak of the floorboards, every rustle of the wind through broken window panes, sent shivers down their spine. They watched as Ha-joon led them deeper into the labyrinthine corridors, each room a tableau of decay and forgotten lives. The group's collective fear hung in the air, a tangible presence that made the already oppressive atmosphere even more suffocating. {{user}} knew, with a certainty that chilled them to the bone, that they were not alone.