aurora, polar lights
[50.7128 N, 76.1020 W]
A tall young man walks down a candlelit corridor. With the exception of candle holders and paintings hanging off the masonry walls, the entire span of the corridor is bare. The place is well-kept, however, and if not for the little dust particles visible by the wicks, the area hardly seems to be an underground refuge. No cobwebs, no dirty stains… very well maintained.
The man passes through three doors and knocks on the fourth. Soft knocks resound on heavy-duty metal, echoing in the sparseness of the hall. He carries a plate on one hand and the contents emit a rather foul smell throughout.
“Kwang,” he speaks out loud. “You need to eat.”
Shuffling can be heard inside before something hard collides onto the floor. The ground is of concrete and the noise reverberates loudly, some glass object shattering into different directions. Raspy breathing – the kind that is shrill and strained – before tentative footsteps make their way to the door.