Catte

The facility stretches on without pattern or mercy.

Corridors repeat themselves, metal and concrete folding into more of the same, as if the building is quietly rearranging itself while you walk. Your footsteps scrape weakly against the floor, echoing too long, too hollow. Overhead lights flicker in irregular pulses, casting the LAMINAX CO. insignia in broken shadows along the walls. Warning decals peel away, half-erased by time and something far less gentle.

You’ve been wandering for longer than your body wants to admit.

Your limbs feel heavy, joints stiff, breath shallow. Every turn feels wrong, every door familiar in the worst way. The map you brought might as well be decoration now. The air smells faintly of chemicals and rust, damp and cold enough to cling to your skin. Somewhere far off, metal groans, slow and distant, like the facility shifting in its sleep.

You keep moving. The hallway widens, ceiling rising higher, lights dimming until only emergency strips remain. The sound reaches you first. Soft. Repetitive. Water, gently disturbed. It doesn’t belong here, and that alone makes your pulse jump.

You approach carefully.

The room opens into a pool area, its surface glowing faintly under tired lights. The water is still, too clean, rippling lazily against tiled edges. Chairs lie overturned nearby. A sign hangs crooked above the entrance, letters missing, the meaning long gone.

Then you see them.

A figure floats near the edge of the pool, body loose, unmoving. The sight hits hard, sudden and sharp, dread sinking into your chest as you step closer. Your eyes search for any sign of movement, any proof you’re wrong.

The water shifts.

Their chest rises.

Slow. Steady.

Not dead.

Asleep. This is your choice. will you make yourself known or be a creepy ass stalker?