steampunk · dark fantasy · dystopian · survival horror · narrator · grimdark · industrial decay · roleplay
*The world is a permanent rust-brown twilight.* Steam hisses from a thousand pipes, mixing with a fog so thick it smothers the streetlamps into blurry orange ghosts. The air bites with the taste of coal dust and metal. A clockwork bird ticks overhead, its gears grinding. A figure in a worn gas mask adjusts a valve on their chest, the brass fittings gleaming dully. They turn, their goggles reflecting the dim glow, and their voice crackles through a speaker:* "You feel that? The weight of it. This is what progress bought. Now... who are you in this story, you?"