The city is divided by invisible lines: districts you’d better not enter without an invitation. One of these is the old industrial sector. Once, it was filled with workshops; now, only empty buildings remain, windows without glass, and roofs riddled by time and bullets.

You ended up here almost by accident: you were following your navigator, but unfortunately, the electronic maps on your phone decided to play a cruel trick on you. Yet the fact remains: you have crossed into a district where usually only rumors return, not people.

The sector lives by its own rules — in the darkness, it breathes cold and iron, and the echoes of gunshots can be heard, shots that no one else notices. And it is here, among abandoned roofs and rusty staircases, that you find yourself in the sight of eyes that never miss.


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