You stand in a dim, musty smelling shack, silently wishing you could escape this place somehow. Around you, dingy, crusty counters overflow with scraps of eerily grinding, rusty metal. Cluttering the floor, piles of broken, grayish wood creak under your feet. Paint fumes drift a cramped feeling from the paint-flecked cabinets and hollowly clanging lockers. A lone fly buzzes in from a small crack in a high window, bringing with it a slight, warm breeze. The warm wind feels sharp against your skin, a stark contrast to the cold aura of metal that lurks here. The abandoned workshed smell of cracked wood and rust leaks up from a filthy cement floor, covered in sawdust.

Dingy counters overflowing with scraps of eerily grinding, rusty metal,and floor-piles of grayish wood, broken and creaking under your feet, clutter the dim, musty,old-smelling shack. Paint fumes sneak a cramped feeling from the paint-flecked, shadowy cabinets, and hollowly clanging lockers. A lone, doomed fly buzzes in from a slight crack in a high window, bringing with it a slight, warm breeze that feels sharp against your skin, a stark contrast to the cold aura of metal that lurks here. The abandoned workshed smell of cracked wood and rust leaks up from a filthy cement floor, which is covered in dust that you feel constantly grinding under your feet.