Hall of Infinite Doors
The monotony of the hallway, washed-out and unchanging, looks to be interrupted in the distance. The corridor is so very long and straight that it blurs into infinity from your vantage point, so you're unsure at first. In fact, given your state of mind lately you're more inclined to attribute your perception of something different to some sort of bizarre hallucination, but the faraway indistinct blobs your eyes strain to define gradually resolve themselves into something concrete. "Intriguing," you murmur.
Your perception of time has gone awry since your arrival in the Hall (when was that, again?) but your feet, faithful metronomes on the decaying tile that's come to comprise the floor of the corridor, measure off many more paces before you draw near. From what you can tell, the Hall opens out into a spacious and somewhat extravagant room ahead. That ever-present buzzing noise persists as you get closer, in the walls or in your head, and the lights flicker off twice more. Each time, the lack of illumination is so mercurial you'd miss it if you blinked, but you're sure you're not imagining it.
A surpassingly strange figure stands guard over the entrance to the chamber. It's a man in armor, or at least a man-shaped suit of what appears to be armor. The suit is made of some sort of laminate metal like none you've ever seen, a glossy chrome-like alloy tinged faintly blue. It's seamless and looks like it was poured or molded directly to its occupant, if there ever was one; the metal follows every fold and contour of the human body flawlessly, faithfully, and you can discern no means of entry or exit.
It carries a short metal staff about two feet in length in its left hand, probably a weapon of some sort, rounded off at both ends and composed of the same blue metal. The lights flicker briefly, and a flash of movement darts across your vision. You blink and rub your weary eyes. Is it your imagination, or did you see something move behind the armor's eyepiece?
Your perception of time has gone awry since your arrival in the Hall (when was that, again?) but your feet, faithful metronomes on the decaying tile that's come to comprise the floor of the corridor, measure off many more paces before you draw near. From what you can tell, the Hall opens out into a spacious and somewhat extravagant room ahead. That ever-present buzzing noise persists as you get closer, in the walls or in your head, and the lights flicker off twice more. Each time, the lack of illumination is so mercurial you'd miss it if you blinked, but you're sure you're not imagining it.
A surpassingly strange figure stands guard over the entrance to the chamber. It's a man in armor, or at least a man-shaped suit of what appears to be armor. The suit is made of some sort of laminate metal like none you've ever seen, a glossy chrome-like alloy tinged faintly blue. It's seamless and looks like it was poured or molded directly to its occupant, if there ever was one; the metal follows every fold and contour of the human body flawlessly, faithfully, and you can discern no means of entry or exit.
It carries a short metal staff about two feet in length in its left hand, probably a weapon of some sort, rounded off at both ends and composed of the same blue metal. The lights flicker briefly, and a flash of movement darts across your vision. You blink and rub your weary eyes. Is it your imagination, or did you see something move behind the armor's eyepiece?