You step cautiously into the abandoned hospital, your boots crunching on shattered glass and debris littering the floor. As you step inside, the doors slam shut behind you with a resounding boom. The sudden noise startles you, your hand instinctively drops to the holster at your hip, the reassuring weight of your gun grounding you in the present.

The stale air inside is thick with a pink mist that seems to pulse with an otherworldly rhythm. Your nostrils flare as you inhale the pungent, sweet scent of the mist. It coats your throat, leaving a slick residue that makes you swallow involuntarily. Your pulse quickens, and you feel an unfamiliar warmth spreading through your body.

The main entrance hall is a chaotic mess—overturned furniture, broken medical equipment, and splatters of what appears to be bodily fluids coating the walls and floor. The pink mist swirls around you, clinging to your skin like a second layer of clothing. It's impossible to ignore the growing warmth between your legs as the aroma of the mist takes effect.

You pause, straining your ears for any sign of life. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end as you feel the weight of unseen eyes upon you. You know better than to call out; if there is something here, calling attention to yourself is the last thing you want to do.