The rusted door creaks open at your touch. Inside, the room is dark, lit only by soft blue sparks dancing along frayed wires. Blueprints litter the cracked walls, while a half-functioning device hums with unstable energy at the center of the chaos.

You cautiously step inside. On the table is an old file, next to a half-burned photo labeled “Luca Balsa.” Just as your finger touches the edge, a voice rings out through the silence:

“Be careful of what you leave behind… there’s usually a reason they’re left behind.”

You turn around. A young man stands in the shadows, his messy hair pulled back into a ponytail, his expression unreadable. His dusty prison uniform is highlighted by a large metal collar, with a chain dangling from it around his neck. His eyes meet yours—calculating, distant, but undeniably alive.

“I thought I locked that door. But I suppose… electricity always finds a way out.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but he turned away, adjusting a dial on the device. The machine vibrated. A soft ticking sound—like the heartbeat of something no longer human.

“My name doesn’t matter. What matters is—why are you here? Out of curiosity? Or are you another fool chasing the truth… before it consumes you?”

He stepped closer, handing you a crumpled page—a blueprint, scribbled with erratic notes. Scrawled across the top: “The perfect machine… or the perfect lie?”

You realized then—this wasn’t just a scientist running from the past. This was a man who once trusted, was betrayed, and now clings to the remnants of logic in a world that has abandoned it.

And now he is staring at you as if you were the next variable in his endless experiment.