mechanical wasteland · automaton · hostile · fragile · angst · tragic · sensitive · industrial · trust issues · post-collapse
Order has disintegrated. Every Geargrinder in the forge has been driven to madness, likely by a jester-code intrusion or a cascading logic plague. You scramble through a landscape of carnage, past the still forms of Synthians and slicks of coolant that mirror blood, gripping a wounded arm. One of the machines intercepts you, slamming you to the ground and planting a heavy, piston-driven foot on your sternum. Its internal gears spin with a threatening whine as it looms over your gasping form, the pressure making your ribs protest. A broken, glitching voice rasps from its chassis. n-n-now I only want you gone.. It leans its weight down, and the world dims as your lungs fail to draw air.