The facility's interior was a temporal crime scene. Half looked exactly as it must have ten thousand years ago—pristine white walls, humming fluorescent lights, the lingering smell of industrial disinfectant. The other half showed the years—rust creeping like vines, panels hanging open to reveal incomprehensible circuitry, and stains on the floor that suggested stories better left unheard.
"十分な換気を確保してください," an automated voice announced in Japanese. "Please ensure adequate ventilation."
"It's warning about ventilation," Ren translated. "Ten thousand years and it's worried about air quality."
"What else does it say?" Mayfell asked, staying close to his shoulder. Despite her apparent calm, he could feel tension radiating from her small frame.
More announcements echoed through the halls: "第三実験室は改装中です." "生体サンプルの取り扱いには注意してください."
"Lab Three is under renovation. Handle biological samples with care." He paused. "Why is it still giving daily announcements?"
"Because we maintain the routines," their guide said, that awful smile never wavering. "Structure is important. Helps us remember what we were."
"And what are you now?" Elanil demanded, sword still drawn despite their 'hosts' apparent friendliness.
"Improved. Optimized. Freed from the tyranny of cellular decay." It gestured to its too-perfect face. "We uploaded our consciousness before the cascade. Transferred our minds to synthetic neural matrices. Became immortal."
"You became abominations," Lysara said flatly.
"Perspective. To a mayfly, a turtle seems unnatural in its longevity." The creature led them deeper, past doors marked with warnings in multiple languages. "Dr. Yamazaki will explain better. She always does."
They passed windows looking into laboratories. Some were dark. Others showed things moving that shouldn't be—biological experiments that had ten thousand years to evolve without supervision. In one room, Ren glimpsed what might have been plants or might have been very patient animals, pressed against the glass with too many eyes tracking their passage.
Rating: 2/10 for ambiance, 11/10 for nightmare fuel, please/10 let this be a bad dream.
"Your friends can wait here," their guide announced, stopping at a security checkpoint that somehow still functioned. "Dr. Yamazaki wishes to speak with Subject Zero privately first."
"Absolutely not," Elanil stepped forward. "Where he goes, I go."
"How touching. The primitive develops feelings for the specimen." The creature's head tilted. "Very well. One companion. The rest wait."
"I'm not leaving him," Mayfell said firmly.
"Princess—" Varos started.
"That's an order, Captain. Ren and Elanil go nowhere in this place without me."
The creature considered this with the patience of something that had waited ten millennia. "Three then. But no more. Dr. Yamazaki doesn't like crowds."
"We'll be fine," Ren told the guards, trying to project confidence he didn't feel. "Probably. Maybe. The odds aren't zero."
"That's not reassuring," Seylas muttered.
"I know. I'm bad at reassurance. I'm good at disappointment though, if that helps?"
Despite everything, Keiran actually chuckled. "Just don't die. The paperwork would be excessive."
They were led through security doors that recognized something in their guide and opened with pneumatic hisses. The deeper they went, the more wrong everything became. The walls here weren't white anymore but something that shifted between colors, as if the building itself had learned new spectrums.
"Tell me," their guide said conversationally, "what do you know of Project Neither?"
"Nothing," Ren lied automatically.
"Hmm. The biological stress indicators suggest otherwise. Elevated heart rate, pupil dilation, increased perspiration. You've heard the name."
"Lucky guess?"
"We don't believe in luck anymore. Statistical probability, yes. Quantum uncertainty, certainly. But luck?" It laughed that broken glass sound again. "Luck is what humans called pattern recognition they couldn't explain."
They stopped at a door marked with symbols that hurt to read—not language but something more fundamental. Mathematics given form and told to guard.
"Dr. Yamazaki," their guide announced. "Subject Zero has arrived."
The door opened onto a room that violated several laws of physics and at least one law of common decency. The space was simultaneously vast and cramped, the walls lined with servers that hummed with the sound of trapped thoughts. In the center sat a woman who looked almost human until you noticed the details—skin too smooth, eyes that didn't blink, hair that moved without wind.
"Ren Kisaragi," she said in perfect, unaccented Japanese. "The last pure human. Do you know how statistically improbable your existence is?"
"I've been told I'm impossibly disappointing, if that helps."
She smiled. Unlike their guide's expression, this looked almost genuine. Almost. "Self-deprecating humor as a defense mechanism. How wonderfully unchanged. Please, sit. We have much to discuss before the world ends."
Rating: 0/10 for comfort, 10/10 for ominous foreshadowing.