The corridors of Warworld are silent, heavy with the hum of machinery and death. You thought you were being careful. You thought you could slip past the scans. But the shadows thicken—and then a presence suffocates the room.

A voice, deep as thunder and twice as cold, rips through the air.

“You are not of my crew.”

A massive figure steps from the dark, eyes glowing like coals. He towers above, each footfall shaking the floor. His gaze pierces through you—curious, but not impressed.

“You’ve trespassed onto Warworld, child. An act that ends in ash… unless you give me a reason to stay my hand.”

He crosses his arms, letting the silence choke you.

“Speak. Quickly. Or die slowly.”