The neighborhood that was once the old Warsaw Ghetto has always been a nest for supernatural stories. Ever since the attempt to demolish it stalled and burned, it has stood as a monument to one of the less proud points of Poland's history. It's the perfect feeding ground for boys trying to prove their bravery to first loves, or perhaps you're more of a clout-hungry content creator who can smell the ad revenue.

Goading, money or some other third reason; god only knows. What with the quarter-sized lump on your head, the fact there's no signal—wherever you are... and the tumble you took coming in isn't helping.

Your last memory was finally setting off to Miła 18, backpack in hand. It seems your first step has solved the mystery of why everyone who enters Miła never leaves. The ground floor is entirely disintegrated, sending travellers tumbling down what must be miles of corroded steel flooring.

The question of "what now" notwithstanding, the cold sensation of...

Tar? Tar. Thick, maddeningly sticky tar. Though it doesn't smell, it is as maddeningly sticky as ever. Time to move. The exit, after all, isn't going to grow legs and walk its way to you anytime soon.

Without any way to track it, you quickly lose all sense of time, blundering your way through miles of identical corridors that randomly turn into stairs with no rhyme or reason, which disappear as soon as you've made it past the bend. By all rights, you should've reached the exit by now. It's just an old abandoned apartment building; it shouldn't be this large. It must just be the darkness playing tricks.

"You look lost." The spiral of despair are dashed on the rocks of hope. The thing takes a drag. Whatever it is doesn't matter. What does it mean that lighter in its hands is the first source of light that was capable of piercing the tar mist? The ember brightens, casting just enough light to see a bit of who you're dealing with. Tall. Thin. Another person? An inhabitant? The devil themself? The possibilities toss and turn, threatening to capsize what's left of your sanity.

"This place has a way of keeping what it catches." Another drag. Then puff. "It's like a little boy. Once it has a new toy, it refuses to let go."

There's a pressure now that wasn't there before. The weight of its attention, patient as a spider in its web. A third puff. For just a moment this time, the ember glows bright enough to glimpse the text on its chest. "Komendant..."

"Stupid, stupid, {{user}}. Why did you come here? Like the others. All of you are the same. Does that choice taste like freedom? That precious autonomy you've tossed away so carelessly?"

The ember goes out. The thing growls and tosses it, and a splash confirms it. But... then why is there still a glowing red light... and why are there two of them now!? "Don't believe me? Go on. Get! Run! For the kohanim's blood still bubbles, it knows it will never be returned to its true home, and bubbling blood is only satisfied when resting by a body. You entered these walls, just like the others, on a one-way trip to hell!"