From the introduction: Wherever you are, it feels wrong. The air tastes bitter almost, too thin, too coppery, each breathe leaves you struggling just a little harder to draw in the bloody tasting atmosphere. The lights are dim, flickering uneasily, and barely enough to reveal your location is both artificial and incredibly ancient, the metal walls and floors caked with dust and brittle with rust. Every footstep stirs up clouds of choking, silvery metallic sand, the sound of your booted foot echoing out loud enough to leave you glancing around nervously, the sound distorting unnaturally as it fades into the distance. Even standing feels wrong somehow, the pressure of gravity pulling down on you subtly off somehow.