870.mp3

Record started. Grid alignment perfect. White tiles… everywhere. No signs of life. Water’s still—except it isn’t. It’s moving on its own. Purple hue… unnatural. This place messes with the lens. Focus drifts. So does thought

no clocks. No echoes. Just the sound of water breathing. I’m not supposed to talk much, just film. But I swear these corridors… they shift. One opened behind me. It wasn’t there before. Uploading this log in case I don’t make it back.